LEGENDS 


SONNETS 


BY 

FRANCES   L.   MACE 


• 


BOSTON 

CUPPLES,  UPHAM   AND  COMPANY 

Corner  Bookstore 

1883 


Copyright,  by 
CUPPLES,  UPHAM  AND  COMPANY, 

1883. 


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ELECTROTYPED. 


BOSTON    STEREOTYPE   FOUNDRY, 
4  PEARL   STREET. 


CONTENTS. 


LEGENDS. 


ISRAFIL  

HESPEKUS. 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  DAWN  . 
THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  ROSE 
BALDUR  THE  BEAUTIFUL    . 
THE  GARDEN  OF  IREM   . 
ST.  GREGORY'S  GUEST 
A  STORM  FANTASY  . 
THE  TREE  TUBA. 
THE  CENTURY  PLANT 
A  TUSCAN  LEGEND 
THE  HELIOTROPE     . 
THE  FIRST  AT  THE  FEAST 
TEARS  OF  Isis  . 
VIDAR  THE  SILENT 
PLYMOUTH  ROCK     . 
NOROMBEGA  .... 

KlNEO  .... 

THE  BOWDOIN  OAK 


1 

15 

18 
29 
32 
36 
40 
44 
46 
48 
51 
53 
55 
57 
58 
60 
63 
67 
72 


M: 


r 


IV  CONTENTS. 

LYRICS. 

EASTER  MORNING       ........  79 

URANIA    ..........  83 

ONLY  WAITING   .........  87 

ARCADIA  ..........  89 

* 

i±  BUDDHIST  VISION  ........ 

GREENWOOD  GREETINGS       ......  99 

TEEE  FIRST  ROBIN      ........  103 

VIOLETS  ....                        ...  105 

THE  FEAST  OF  THE  VALLEY    ......  106 

PEARLS  OF  PRICE  .        .        ......  108 

THE  SIGNAL         .........  Ill 

DREAMLAND  CITY  ........  113 

RECOMPENSE       .        .        .        .  .        .        .        .117 

SONG  PHANTOMS     ........  118 

UP  THE  RIVER    .........  121 

HAIL  AND  FAREWELL    .                .....  123 

A  SEASIDE  PICTURE  ........  125 


LOTUS-EATING    .........  129 

SUNSET  AT  SEAL  POINT  COTTAGE        ....  131 

BLACK-CAP  MOUNTAIN      .......  134: 

RIVERSIDE        .........  137 

To  BEETHOVEN  .......  .141 

FROM  ROME    .........  143 

OBERAMMERGAU  .........  146 

WHAT  CHEER  ?        .......  146 

A  VIGIL      .                 ........  149 

INDIAN  SUMMER     .                        ....  152 

CENTENNIAL  HYMN             .......  154 

WINTER  OUR  GUEST      .......  156 

IMMORTELLES      .........  160 

CONSOLATION  ,  162 


CONTEXTS  V 

S  0  X  X  E  T  S 

ORIENT  TO  OCCIDENT        .     ^ 167 

OCCIDENT  TO  ORIENT 168 

THE  SEVEN  DAYS 169 

LONGFELLOW 175 

VICTORIA 176 

To  THE  RAINBOW .177 

THE  MAGIC  FLUTE 178 

MIDNIGHT 179 

DAYBREAK  ....                180 

FRIENDSHIP 181 

THE  FLOWER  PAINTER 182 

EBB  AND  FLOW      ....                .                .  184 

HAPPINESS 185 

SOUNDS  FROM  HOME 186 

FAR  AND  XEAR 187 

FOREST  AVORSHIP 188 

ISOLATION 189 

ALTAR  FLOWERS 190 

STAR  SOLITUDE 191 

ST.  CECILIA  192 


LEGENDS. 


' 


LEGENDS. 


I  S  R  A  F I  L. 

ISRAFIL  ! 

Stay  thy  sickle  on  vale  and  hill. 

Come  from  the  woods  whose  gorgeous  leaves 

Pale  and  wither  beneath  thy  tread : 

Come  from  binding  among  thy  sheaves 

Dearer  blossoms  of  beauty  dead, 

Of  grandeur  and  of  worth 

Wrested  away  from  earth. 

Bend  thy  sorrowful  eyes  on  me, 

Angel  of  death  !  and  while  nature  breathes 

One  hour  from  thy  sad  dominion  free, 

Tell  me  the  mystery  of  thy  woe, 

The  legend  I  only  have  heard  in  dreams. 

Over  my  heart  shall  flow 


'   < 

(    , 


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2  LEGENDS. 

In  fuller  measures  the  solemn  strain, 
Up  from  depths  of  tears  and  pain 
Rising  to  patience,  —  rising  again 
To  a  paean  of  triumph. 

Hush  !  be  still ! 

Whence  this  odor  of  amaranth  wreaths? 

Whence  these  faint  and  starlike  beams 

Shed  from  feet  which  make  no  sound  ? 

A  touch  of  fire 

Is  on  my  lyre, 

And  its  strings  with  a  sudden,  rapturous,  bound 

Thrill  beneath  the  angel  fingers. 

O  O 

Thou  art  come  —  thou  art  gone  ! 
Yet  in  all  my  being  lingers 
A  breath  celestial,  a  voiceless  tone, — 
I  shall  not  utter  my  song  alone, 
Israfil ! 

On  Paradise 

A  softer  hue  of  glory  lies, 

The  hush  of  evening,  for  the  night 

Comes  slowly  o'er  young  Eden's  skies, 

Reluctant  to  conceal  from  sight 

One  blossom's  radiant  dyes. 

A  thousand  birds  amid  the  shade, 

To  sleep  their  shining  plumage  fold, 


ISRAF1L.  3 

A  thousand  flowers  that  cannot  fade 
Perfume  afresh  their  leaves  of  o-old, 

O 

Far  off,  rising  stars  illume 

'  O 

The  gentle,  yet  half  fearful  gloom 

Which  folds  in  deeper  shade  yon  myrtle  bower. 

There  lost  in  slumbers  pure  and  deep, 

Wrapt  in  the  stillness  of  the  hour, 

Unconscious  yet  of  tempter's  power, 

The  first-born,  guiltless  mortals  sleep. 

Lo  !  down  the  airy  waste 
Four  shining  angels  haste  : 

O  O 

Their  eager  wings  make  music  as  they  come, 
Flashing  alone:  the  nicfht, 

O  O  O          ' 

All  redolent  of  light, 

O          7 

As  if  the  splendors  of  their  upper  home 
Reflected  still  illumed  their  earthward  flight. 
On,  swiftly  on,  past  star  by  star, 
Leaving  a  path  of  glory  far 
Behind  their  luminous  wings,  at  last 

O       7 

The  measureless  expanse  is  past, 
And  at  their  feet  in  beauty  lies 
The  new-made,  earthly  Paradise. 
As  when  from  envious  shadow  breaks 
Sweet  Hesperus  and  walks  the  aisles 
Of  heaven's  blue  temple,  nature  smiles 
And  added  grace  and  beauty  takes, 


LEGENDS. 

So  Eden,  conscious  in  its  dreams 
Of  a  diviner  atmosphere, 
Breathes  richer  fragrance  far  and  near, 
And  in  the  angelic  presence  beams. 

A  moment  stay  their  steps  to  view 
Scenes  to  angel  vision  new,  — 
Roses  burdened  with  the  dew 
By  the  tender  night  distilled, 
Birds  whose  last  good-night  is  trilled 
Sleeping  on  the  tremulous  bough, 
Fountains  white  in  moonlight  glow : 
But  a  moment,  for  the  night 
Deepens,  and  without  the  gate 
Evil  spirits  hide  and  wait. 
Each  bright  angel  seeks  his  post, 
Armed,  and  mightier  than  a  host 
Of  the  envious,  guileful  band 
That  in  outer  darkness  stand. 
Northward,  southward,  westward  go 
One  by  one  the  heavenly  guard, 
Clothed  about  with  garments  white 
That  diffuse  a  silvery  glow, 
Bearing  each  a  sword  of  li^ht 

O  O 

With  celestial  jewels  starred. 
Last  with  lingering  steps  that  seem 
Loth  to  seek  the  nightly  stand 


ISRAF1L.  0 

On  the  utmost  eastern  hill, 
Youngest  of  the  angel  band, 
Lovelier  than  a  poet's  dream, 
Comes  the  angel  Israfil ! 

Now  quicker  in  his  noiseless  tread, 

His  silvery  wings  expanding  spread, 

Half  floats  he  in  the  air  with  deep  delight 

As  scenes  of  new  enchantment  meet  his  sight. 

His  eyes  of  liquid  azure,  touched  with  fire, 

More  beautiful  than  can  be  sung  or  told, 

Shine  'neath  the  aureole  of  his  locks  of  gold, 

With  a  soft  restlessness,  a  fond  desire. 

Adoring  beauty  with  a  love 

Too  passionate  for  one  of  angel  birth, 

Even  at  this  hour  he  pants  to  rove 

Amid  the  green  bowers  of  the  fragrant  earth  ; 

To  hear  once  more  the  nightingale's  refrain, 

To  touch  the  humid,  sleeping  rose  again, 

But  most  of  all  to  see 

The  latest  miracle  of  Deity,  — 

The  revelation,  unto  angels  new, 

Of  loveliness  they  scarcely  yet  conceive 

As  real,  substantial,  true, 

The  first  of  human  womanhood, 

The  breathing  form,  the  spirit  pure  and  good, 

The  garden's  royal  flower,  the  new  created  Eve. 


6  LEGENDS. 

O  Israfil ! 

Bid  thy  impulsive  soul  be  still, 

Until  the  morning  wait ! 

o 

Leave  not  the  haunted  o;ate 

o 

Where  even  now,  by  evil  sense  aware 

Of  thy  untried  and  hasty  mood, 

The  serpent  King  with  envious  hate 

Whispers,  to  tempt  thy  angelhood, 

Of  her  the  wonderfully  fair, 

Whom  but  to  look  upon  would  be 

A  rapture  and  an  ecstasy. 

O  Israfil, 

Keep  well  thy  watch  upon  the  starlit  hill, 

Until  the  morning  wait ! 

O 

Then  when  the  summons  from  on  hicfh 

O 

Recalls  thy  comrades  to  the  sky, 

She  shall  come  forth,  and  with  sweet  converse 

greet 

The  parting  and  the  coming  angel  host. 
Stay  thy  impetuous  feet ; 
One  moment  now  absented  from  thy  post, 
And  all  is  lost. 
The  serpent  watches  well :  thou  shalt  return  too 

late  ! 

An  hour  is  past, 

All  Eden  sleeps  in  motionless  repose. 


ISRAF1L.  7 

Around,  above,  he  casts  his  restless  eyes 

And  sighs  to  think  how  long  the  night  will  last. 

The  moon  rides  slowly,  slowlv  down  the  skies. 

«.    7  *- 

Surely  far  off  have  vanished  Eden's  foes. 
No  evil  spirit  can  be  lurking  near, 
No  sound,  no  breath  meets  his  attentive  ear. 
So  long  the  night,  so  deep  the  silence  grows, 
May  he  not  wander  at  his  wayward  will 
If  not  too  distant  from  the  sentinel  hill? 
Only  a  few  light  steps  will  bring  him  near 
The  bower  of  which  the  angels  oft  have  told. 
There  in  the  moonlight  clear 

O 

A  moment  tarrying,  he  may  behold, 

And  seeing  may  believe 

That  only  he  has  learned  how  beautiful  is  Eve. 

As  now  with  wilful  steps  he  seeks 
The  bower  where  she  is  slumbering, 
The  dew  brushed  by  his  rapid  wing 
From  hanging  boughs,  falls  on  his  cheeks. 
His  feet  are  trampling  in  their  haste 
The  straying  rose,  a  wildwood  vine 
Whose  flowers  the  mossy  pathway  graced. 
He  starts,  when  in  the  bright  moonshine 
A  bird,  awakened,  trills  a  note, 
Then    sleeps,   the    song   still   rippling   from   his 
throat. 


8  LEGENDS. 

But  soon  he  trembles,  listens,  doubts  no  more : 
All  else  forgotten  he  is  bending  o'er 

CD  O 

The  violet  bed,  amid  whose  blest  perfume 
Earth's  fairest  being  sleeps,  unconscious  of  her 

* 

doom. 

She  sleeps  —  she  dreams  — 
For  now  a  smile  hovers  with  tender  grace 
About  her  lips.     The  beauty  of  her  face 
A  breathing  wonder  to  the  ansjel  seems. 

O  O 

Her  dark  eyelashes  rest 

Motionless  on  the  warm  flush  of  her  cheek, 

Her  lips  part  softly,  as  if  she  would  speak 

But  had  in   dreamland   lost  the  word   she  fain 

would  seek! 

One  hand  is  lightly  clasped  about  a  rose 
Which  fully  open  blows, 
Too  blest  to  share  its  sister  flowers'  repose. 
And  veiling  her  white  breast 
Falls  wave  on  wave  of  lustrous  golden  hair. 

•^j 

Like  one  enchanted  in  the  moonlight  glow, 
The  ans;el  lingers  still  and  murmurs  low, 

O  O  7 

"  Daughter  of  earth,  how  fair ! ' 

Israfil !     Israfil ! 

The  cry  rings  through  the  startled  night. 

The  angels  speed  in  sudden  fright 


1SRAFIL.  9 

Toward  the  unprotected  gate. 
On  wings  of  fear  flies  Israfil  — 
Alas  !  he  flies  too  late. 
His  brother  angels  flashing  by 
Already  with  pure  sense  perceive 
An  evil  lurking  nio;h. 

o         o 

A  change  comes  o'er  the  moonlit  sky : 
The  wind  begins  to  sigh  and  grieve ; 
The  garden  feels  a  sudden  chill,  — 
The  breath  of  coming  fate. 
"  Where  hast  thou  strayed,  O  Israfil  ? 
The  serpent's  taint  is  on  the  air. 
The  son  of  darkness,  once  as  fair 
And  frail  as  thou,  is  come !  " 
He  hides  his  face  in  his  despair 
And  stands  before  them,  dumb. 

All  night  the  angels  to  and  fro 
Seek  for  the  messenger  of  woe. 

O 

He,  subtle,  silent,  still  eludes 
Their  search.     In  densest  solitudes 
Evades  the  lustre  that  is  shed 
From  their  celestial  tread. 
At  morn,  recalled,  they  seek  the  skies, 
But  Israfil  with  drooping  wings 
No  longer  heavenward  can  arise, 
To  earth  unwilling  clings. 

o  o 


10  LEGENDS. 

Through  all  that  fateful  day,  hour  after  hour, 

With  deepest  sorrow  thrilled, 

He  stands  invisible,  apart, 

Sees  evil  warring  with  the  human  heart, 

And  Eden's  doom  fulfilled. 

When  in  the  evening  cool  the  Lord  appears, 

Sees  the  forbidden  tree  with  broken  bloom, 

The  garden  desolate  and  lost  in  gloom, 

The  mortals  hiding  from  his  searching  gaze, 

Israfil,    speechless,  hears 

Their    fate    pronounced,    sees    their    repentant 

tears 
And  death's  dread   shadow  hanging   o'er  their 

days. 

And  now  on  him  the  rays 
Of  the  Eternal  Vision  fall,  the  word 
Of  his  own  doom  is  heard. 
"Since  death  by  thee  is  come  unto  the  earth, 
Be  thou  its  messenger.     Thy  name  shall  be 
A  terror  unto  all  of  human  birth ; 
The  shadow  of  the  grave  forever  follow  thee." 

In  Eden  it  was  early  dawn. 

How  changed  since  in  the  even-time 

The  angel  saw  it  in  its  prime. 

The  erring  mortals  now  were  gone : 

He  stood  within  their  empty  bower  alone. 


ISRAFIL.  11 

Above  his  head 

A  little  bird  was  warbling  cheerily. 

The  music  mocked  his  speechless  misery. 

He  raised  his  hand,  unconscious  of  his  power, 

And  grasped  the  bough  which  held  the  dainty  nest, 

And  the   branch    shrivelled   in   his   hand  ;  with 

breast 

Panting  in  sudden  pain,  the  bird  fell  dead. 
Aghast,  he  seized  a  flower,  — 
The   rose   which  Eve's  fair  hand  at  night   had 

pressed  ; 

Beneath  his  touch  it  withered ;  bud  and  leaf 
Dropped  dry  and  scentless.     In  a  bitter  grief 
He  murmured  — "This  is  death  ! 
And  this  henceforth  shall  be  mv  destiny, — 

*  *    * 

To  slay  but  not  to  die. 

To  blight  all  things  of  mortal  breath, 

^->  d?  / 

All  earthly  loveliness  to  sere, 
All  that  yon  beings  hold  most  dear 
Must  perish  when  my  steps  draw  near. 
Nor  can  I  shun  my  fearful  power, 
Or  spare  from  them  one  dreaded  hour. 
Onward  I  go  through  all  the  years, 
Unheeding  human  prayers  and  tears. 
Let  mortals  seek  through  toil  and  fears 
Some  transient  gleams  of  love  and  joy, 
I  follow  after  to  destroy." 


12  LEGENDS. 

"Israfil!" 

The  an£el  looked  and  bowed  his  face 

o 

Before  a  brow  whose  sweet,  majestic  grace 
Had  shone  upon  him  oft  in  happier  morn, 
From  the  Eternal  hill 
Whose    dazzling    height    reveals    the    Father'? 

throne. 

Immanuel  the  First  Born 
Stood  smiling  on  him  in  the  early  dawn. 
« Israfil,  behold  ! " 

The  Son  takes  in  his  hand  the  withered  rose, 
Its  petals  seem  like  magic  to  unfold. 
A  new,  celestial  bloom, 
A  heavenly  perfume 
Through  the   awakened  blossom    breathes   and 

glows. 

The  Savior  smiling  lays  it  on  His  breast. 
He  takes  the  dead  bird  from  its  broken  nest,  — 
It  flutters,  plumes  its  wings, 
Then  rapturously  sings 

And  soars  away  toward  the  beaming  Heaven. 
Then  spake  He  —  "  Israfil, 
The  Father  to  the  Son  a  boon  hath  given. 
Go  forth,  but  I  am  with  thee.     Do  His  will 
Who  laid  this  doom  upon  thee,  and  be  still. 
Thou  dost  destroy,  but  thus  can  I  restore. 
Angel  of  death  arise,  and  hope  once  more  ! 


ISEAFIL.  13 

From  Abel's  blood  spilt  on  the  altar  stone 
To  Calvary's  cross  which  I  must  bear  alone, 
Thou  shalt  be  terrible  to  human  kind 
And  hope  but  dimly  light  the  troubled  mind. 
But  from  that   grave  which   yields   to   me   its 

portal, 

Faith  shall  come  forth,  the  Comforter  immortal, 
And  thou,  new-crowned,  shalt  be 
Seen  by  believing  eyes  linked  hand  in  hand  with 

Me!" 

Thus  spake  Iramanuel,  and  ascending  passed 
Again  unto  His  Father's  house,  to  keep 
Unbroken  watch  while  time  and  sorrow  last, 
Of  His  beloved  who  in  death  shall  sleep. 
And  Israfil  arose,  serene  and  calm, 
And  with  one  last  look  upon  Eden's  bower, 
Went  forth  into  the  morning's  fragrant  balm, 

o  o  * 

To  wield  forevermore  his  melancholy  power. 

Israfil ! 

Let  thy  sickle  return  to  the  harvest  that  gleams 

White  and  wan  on  valley  and  hill, 

For  my  lyre  is  still. 

The  sons:  that  I  heard  in  the  land  of  dreams 

O 

Is  sung,  and  its  magic  shall  haunt  me  no  more. 
Ever  yet  to  the  unseen  shore 


14  LEGENDS. 

Bear  earth's  harvest,  the  loved  and  lost. 
Often  thy  shadow  my  door  has  crossed. 
I  have  seen  thy  icy  fingers  laid 
On  lips  that  I  loved  and  was  not  afraid. 
Following  close  on  thy  chill  and  gloom, 
Reaching  up  from  the  darkened  tomb 
Was  the  very  odor  of  heavenly  bloom 
Shed  from  His  garments  who  followed  thee, 
And  took  my  idols  to  keep  for  me. 

Israfil ! 

Come  again  at  the  Master's  will. 

At  thy  cross  and  pang  my  flesh  may  shrink, 

But  thy  bitter  cup  I  will  dare  to  drink, 

And  follow  thee  down  to  the  river's  brink. 

Through  the  breathless  tide 

~ 

I  will  clino;  to  the  hand  of  the  Crucified. 

O 

And  when  I  awake  on  the  further  shore 

I  shall  see  thee  no  more 

Sad  and  shrouded  in  garments  dim, 

But  the  angel  of  peace,  and  brother  of  Him 

Who   crowned   thee  and  blessed   thee  on   Cal- 

'  vary's  Hill, 
Israfil ! 


HESPERUS. 

AWAKE,  O  beautiful  Hesperus ! 

Awake !  for  the  day  is  done, 
And  the  royal  purple  curtains  are  drawn 

Round  the  couch  of  the  sleeping  sun. 
There  is  a  hush  on  the  blooming  earth, 

A  hush  on  the  beating  sea, 
And  silence,  too,  in  the  courts  of  Heaven, 

For  the  stars  all  wait  for  thee, 

Hesperus ! 
All  things  beautiful  wait  for  thee. 

Tis  the  hour  for  fancy's  fairy  reign, 

When  the  glowing  brain  is  fraught 
With  visions  of  beauty  and  bliss  and  love 

That  leave  no  room  for  thought. 
With  the  light  of  warm  and  glorious  dreams 

This  narrow  chamber  is  bright, 
And  I  need  but  thee  to  sing  with  me, 

O  sweetest  poet  of  night ! 

Hesperus, 
Open  thy  volume  of  golden  light. 

15 


16  LEGENDS. 

There  may  I  read  of  the  youth  of  old 
Who  clambered  the  mountain  height, 

O          ' 

And  talked  with  stars  in  the  midnight  hours 

O 

Till  he  faded  from  human  sight. 

CD 

Till  his  brow  grew  bright  with  wonderful  light, 
And  away  from  the  world's  rude  jars, 

He  was  lost  in  the  beams  of  his  radiant  dreams 
And  himself  was  the  fairest  of  stars. 
Hesperus ! 

The  best  beloved  of  all  the  stars  ! 

There  may  I  read  this  legend  rare 

And  its  beautiful  meaning  learn, 
While  my  soul  new  kindled  to  hopes  divine 

With  a  holy  fire  shall  burn. 
O  never  should  human  heart  despair 

Of  the  presence  of  God  on  high, 

0  never  should  human  faith  grow  dim, 
While  the  stars  are  in  the  sky ! 

Hesperus, 
Thy  voice  is  the  voice  of  eternity. 

Thou  art  smiling  down  on  me,  Hesperus  ! 
With  that  smile  upon  my  heart 

1  know  that  kindred  to  me  and  mine 

In  those  measureless  heights  thou  art. 


HESPERUS.  17 

When  thy  spirit  blossomed  into  a  star 

In  the  mystical  days  of  old, 
The  love  and  the  hope  it  bore  on  high, 

The  legend  hath  never  told. 

Hesperus, 
Thy  sweetest  story  hath  never  been  told. 

O  to  be  like  thee,  Hesperus  ! 
To  climb  the  heights  of  truth, 

O  * 

And  there  to  drink  of  celestial  airs, 

To  glow  with  immortal  youth ; 
There  wrapt  in  the  light  which  is  born  in  skies 

Where  the  blessed  angels  are, 
To  hear  earth's  harmonies  only  rise, 

Floating  sweetly  up  from  afar. 

Hesperus ! 
How  can  my  spirit  be  made  a  star  ? 


A  LEGEND   OF  THE  DAWN. 

FROM  a  bed  of  velvet  the  Tourmaline 
Its  crystal  splendors  of  red  and  green, 
Toned  and  mellowed  by  milk-white  bars, 
Flashed  in  the  sunset.     The  prisoned  rays 
Glittering,  shimmering  under  my  gaze, 
Now  soft  as  the  rainbow's  melting  haze, 

^j  / 

Now  fierce  and  fine  as  the  light  of  stars, 

Held  me,  thrilled  me  with  magic  glance! 

All  the  fairest  and  wildest  flights 

Of  fancy,  winged  in  Arabian  Nights, 

Circling  slow  in  bewildering  dance 

Seemed  to  float  o'er  the  jewel  rare. 

Till  half  afraid,  lest  a  look  profane 

The  spell-bound  spirit  imprisoned  there, 

I  turned  away,  — but  all  in  vain  — 

The  mystery  breathed  from  the  page  again. 

For  there  I  read  of  pure  and  priceless  ores 
Stored  as  by  some  malignant,  fateful  plan, 
In  desert  isles,  on  solitary  shores, 
Beyond  the  reach  and  far  from  haunts  of  man. 

18 


A   LEGEND  OF  THE  DAWN.  19 

Of  wrath  of  winds  and  waters,  storm  and  fire 
To    baffle    and    to    thwart   the   world's   desire 
For  precious  stones;  and  though  with  new 

delight 

Age  after  age  some  treasure  brings  to  sight, 
Brilliants  unnumbered  sleep  in  endless  night. 
In  secret  still  the  jealous  elements  nurse 
The  crystal  blossoms  of  the  universe. 

I  closed  the  book.     I  lifted  from  its  bed 
Of  tawny  velvet  the  enchanted  stone. 
Again  its  fiery  glance  upon  me  shone, 
All  sense  of  present,  actual  being  fled. 
Backward,  far  backward  in  the  dawn  of  time 
Floated  my  vision;  in  creation's  prime, 
When  Genii  roamed  in  daring  strength  abroad, 
But  living  souls  were  hidden  still  with  God. 

Can  this  be  morning,  — this  light  which  breaks 
In  utter  silence  o'er  land  and  sea  ? 
No  bower  in  the  forest,  no  tent  on  the  lea, 
No  sail  on  the  rivers,  no  oar  on  the  lakes, 
Nor  voice,  nor  motion  of  grief  or  glee  ? 
Even  the  sunlight,  a  languid  ray, 
Lingers  and  dreams  at  the  door  of  day. 
But  hark  !  what  tone,  what  elfin  strain 
Wakens  the  landscape  to  life  again  ? 


20  LEGENDS. 

"  Come  Genii  of  the  deep  ! 
Come,  giant  forms  of  the  earth  and  sky ! 
Ye  who  toil  without  rest  or  sleep, 
Whose  lips  never   smile   and  whose  eyes  never 

weep, 

But  whose  hands  are  mighty  to  gather  and  reap 
The  beautiful  harvest  of  diadems. 
Come,  for  the  end  of  your  toil  is  nigh. 
The  days  primeval  are  told  ; 
The  veins  of  the  earth  are  full  of  £old ; 

O  ? 

The  ocean's  sparkling  floor 
Lights  up  the  waters  with  glittering  ore, 
Over  vast  spaces  like  shadows  creep, 
And  come  to  the  island  of  gems." 

A  voice  like  music  wafted  from  afar, 

Faint  and  aerial  and  unreal  as  are 

The  utterances  of  all  the  soulless  things 

Which  of  mysterious  birth 

Move  to  and  fro  upon  the  living  earth, 

Sent  forth  this  wild  and  melancholy  call. 

It  floated  out  upon  the  winds,  and  all 

The  breezy  spirits  spread  their  fragrant  wings 

And  bore  it  up  and  down  the  sea  and  land. 

It  pierced  the  depths,  and  drowsy  ocean  stirred 

And  sounded  it  again,  till  it  was  heard 

In  deepest  cave,  on  farthest  icy  strand. 


A  LEGEND   OF  THE  DAWN.  21 

Then  to  the  island  of  flame 
Luminous  far  over  tropic  seas, 
Summoned  by  heralds  of  billow  and  breeze, 
Unnumbered  Genii  came. 
Gem  of  the  ocean  the  island  lay, 
Veiled  with  a  mist  of  rainbow  spray ; 
Nor  leaf,  nor  verdure  adorned  the  side 
Of  the  sloping  cliffs,  but  far  and  wide 
Crystal  masses  of  white  and  green, 
Beds  of  amethyst,  paths  of  spar 
Spangled  with  diamonds  brighter  far 
Than  noonday's  radiant  sunbeams  are ; 
Terrace  of  rubies,  like  scarlet  flowers, 
Sapphire  violets,  emerald  bowers, 
Crimson  and  olive  tourmaline, 
With  banks  of  topaz  whose  azure  gleams 
Were  blent  with  pearl  wreaths  of  silver  sheen. 
Hither  swiftly  and  silently  came 
Spirits  of  billow  and  vapor  and  flame, 
Subject  all  to  the  beautiful  queen 
Eola  of  golden  beams  ! 

She  solitary  on  her  brilliant  throne, 
A  seat  of  gold  with  vivid  gems  inwrought  — 
Beheld  them  as  they  gathered  one  by  one. 
Each  to  her  feet  some  sparkling  jewel  brought, 
Which  with  new  lustre  in  her  presence  shone. 


22  LEGENDS. 

Giants  were  they  in  form,  and  dark  and  grave, 
Their  features  neither  hope  nor  sorrow  wore ; 
In  time's  first  hours  to  them  the  Maker  gave 
Such  endless  life  as  earthly  elements  have, 
With  strength  and  will  to  work  the  precious  ore. 
Arrayed  before  the  sovereign,  as  in  turn 
Her  shining  glance  on  each  one  chanced  to  burn, 
The  shadow  brings,  dusky,  dark  and  stern 
Gave  forth  prismatic  lights  of  various  hue, 
Till  like  their  own  rich  handiwork  they  grew. 

"  Ye  to  whom  power  is  given 
Over  the  secrets  of  land  and  sea, 
Mingling  the  life-giving  beams  of  heaven 
With  the  dark  vapors,  the  deathly  mould 
That  earth's  abysses  and  caverns  hold, 
Into  the  night  of  memory  reach ! 
Borrow  of  winds  and  waters  speech, 

And  tell  once  more 
The  work  ye  have  wrought  with  the  shining  ore." 

Then  one  who  spake  for  many,  bowed  him  low 
Before  her  throne.     "  Eola  !  thou  dost  know 
We  were  of  Chaos  and  of  Darkness  born. 
Without  thee  we  were  helpless,  blind  and  weak. 
But  when  the  first  Day  grew  to  glowing  morn. 
Daughter  of  Light !  thv  glance  had  power  to  speak 

~  */     ~ 


A   LEGEND  OF  THE  DAWN.  23 

Our  torpor  into  life.     By  thee  sent  forth, 
Armed  with  thy  beams,  we  wandered  south  and 

north 

And  to  remotest  wilds  of  east  and  west, 
The  purest  treasure  of  the  earth  our  quest. 
Where'er  thy  spear  on  desert  rock  or  land 
Revealed  a  grain  of  unpolluted  sand, 
Lustrous  and  clear,  we  bore  it  to  the  strand 
Of  mighty  ocean,  and  the  salt  sea  wave 
Planted  in  priceless  beds  the  seed  we  gave. 
Flames  wrought  beneath  the  ocean,  central  fires 

O 

Upturned  the  depths,  and  laid  on  every  shore 
Perfected  miracles  of  precious  ore. 
Now  we  rejoice  in  thy  fulfilled  desires." 

Then  hastilv  bending  down, 

v  <37  ' 

One  laid  at  her  feet  a  crown 
From  whose  central  jewel  seemed  to  unfurl 
Petals  of  opal  with  frosts  of  pearl, 
And  sprays  like  dew-drops  on  yellow  sheaves. 
"  The  light  of  thy  love,  O  queen  ! 
We  have  wrought  into  brilliants  of  purple  and 

green, 

Into  blossoms  that  never  shall  lose  their  sheen, 
Nor  their  glowing,  beautiful  dyes. 
Each  glance  of  thy  sunny  eyes 
Some  happy  spirit  delighted  weaves 


24  LEGENDS. 

Into  deathless  beauty.     Let  thy  command 
Speed  on  our  labors.     From  every  land 
Let  us  bring  the  spoil,  till  the  final  day 
The  reign  of  the  human  shall  end  our  sway."- 

As  some  fair  tree  white  with  perfected  bloom 
Waves  slowly  to  and  fro,  and  slowly  fall 
The  snowflake  petals,  till  the  verdure  all 
Is  strewn  with  drifts  of  prodigal  perfume, 
So  now  Eola,  sun-born  spirit,  shook 
Her  waving  tresses  with  a  mournful  smile, 
And  falling  beams  illumined  all  the  isle. 
"  That  day  has  come,  O  genii !  ye  may  look 
Even  now  upon  the  new  created  one 
For  whom  all  days  their  wonder  work  have  done. 
My  spirits,  do  ye  not  remember  well 
When  from  the  vast,  blue  dome  above,  there  fell 
A  Voice  which  shook  the  firmament,  and  ye 
Heard  the  Invisible  utter  His  decree  — 
"  Let  us  make  man  ! '    the  angels  heard  and  sung 
Paeans  with  which  the  whirling  planets  rung, 
But  in  the  deepest  shade 
Ye  hid  yourselves,  sore  troubled  and  afraid. 
O  Genii !  know  that  unto  the  last  day 
Of  the  creation  only,  we  have  sway. 
The  world  is  ripe  for  man;  we  phantoms  must 
away ! " 


A   LEGEND  OF  THE  DAWN.  l 

Then  sounds  and  sighings  of  woe 

Through  all  the  island  were  heard, 

And  the  waves  of  the  listening  ocean  stirred 

And  beat  on  the  fringing  coral  reef 

With  a  sullen,  angry  flow, 

And  an  undertone  of  grief. 

"Ah!  we  remember,  queen! 

We  too  have  the  omens  seen 

Of  creation's  ultimate  change. 

It  was  not  for  us  that  the  waters  rolled 

And  left  the  isles  and  continents  free. 

It  was  not  for  us  that  verdure  and  tree, 

Foliage  gorgeous  and  manifold. 

With  flowers  like  jewels  of  red  and  gold, — 

Robed  the  valleys  and  wreathed  the  hills ; 

Not  ours  the  shadow  of  oak  and  palm, 

And  fruits  that  ripen  with  breath  of  balm ; 

Not  ours  the  music  the  wild  bird  trills 

Nor  the  strength  of  the  forest. 

But  say,  O  queen, 
What  later  signal  thine  eyes  have  seen." 

Slowly  she  spoke  —  the  shining  lustre  shed 
In  fainter  sparkles  from  her  beaming  head. 
"I  saw,  O  children  of  the  fire  and  flood, 
A  garden  which  your  feet  have  never  trod. 


26  LEGENDS. 

Vast,  beautiful  and  rich  with  foliage  rare, 
Earth  has  no  vale  so  spacious  nor  so  fair. 
And  in  the  midst  one  walked,  of  lesser  height 
Than  we,  but  firm,  compact,  and  fair  to  sight. 
He  spoke  —  his  voice  rang  out  distinct  and  clear; 
The  beasts  with  mild  obedience  drew  near, 
And   the   birds    hushed   their   delicate  notes  to 

hear. 

I  glided  closer  and  by  him  unseen 
Watched  his  superior  step,  his  fearless  mien, 
Until  with  brow  uplifted  to  the  sky 
He  said  aloud  '  Our  Father  ! '  from  on  hisrh 

O 

The  Voice  that  called  the  days  to  life  replied, 
And  I  fled  trembling  from  the  garden's  side. 
Alas !  in  fearful  haste  I  dropped  a  gem, 
The  brighest  star  from  out  my  diadem, 
Low  at  his  feet  it  lies, 
Mocked  by  the  fairer  bloom  of  Paradise. 

"  But  not  for  the  new  born  race 
Are  the  treasures  that  ve  have  won 

«/ 

My  children  of  fire  and  sun  ! 

Still  in  some  secret  space, 

Some  hidden  grotto  of  earth  or  cave, 

In  mountain  granite  or  black  sea  wave 

We  will  find  a  resting-place. 

O    1 


A   LEGEND   OF  THE  DAWN.  27 

To  your  utmost  depths  ye  sons  of  fire ! 
Ye  foam-tressed  waves  roll  wilder,  higher, 
Snow  spirits,  winds,  your  plumes  outspread, 
Daughters  of  sunlight  o'er  wide  earth  flee  — 
And  wherever  a  mortal  foot  may  tread, 
Gather  in  haste  and  bring  to  me. 
We  will  bury  our  jewels  in  mountain  and  main, 
And  the  mighty,  hereafter,  shall  seek  them   in 


vain." 


Silent  and  swift  the  genii  now  began 
To  hide  the  riches  they  had  wrought,  from  man. 
Into  great  rifts  of  mountain  rock  they  poured 
The  gold  a  thousand  centuries  had  stored, 
With  gleaming  sands  the  river  beds  were  sown. 

O  O 

Masses  of  crystal,  violet,  rose,  and  white, 
Tinting  the  waters  far  with  colored  light, 
Into  the  secret  ocean  depths  were  thrown. 
Hard  was  their  toil,  nor  did  Eola  shun 
To  give  them  aid,  though  daughter  of  the  sun. 

O  *  O  O 

At  sunset  all  was  ended.     Gathered  there 
Upon  the  island  desolate  and  bare, 
Dim,  wavering  forms  already  fain  to  flee 

O  tf 

The  presence  of  unknown  humanity, 

They  looked   upon  their   queen.     She  took  her 

crown, 
Of  its  lost  gem  despoiled,  and  cast  it  down 


28  LEGENDS. 

Into  the  waters.     From  her  shoulders  fell 

The  mantle  of  the  sunbeams.     "Now,  farewell, 

Sweet  light   of  day !  "  she  uttered  —  "  We  will 

keep 

Eternal  watch  within  the  unsounded  deep. 
Woe  to  the  hand  that  for  the  prize  may  dare 
In  toil  and  pain  to  search.     The  rock  shall  be 
Of  adamantine  strength  :  the  trusty  sea 
Unwilling  yield  one  golden  grain,  and  care 
And  ill  unmeasured  be  the  victor's  share." 

Fading,  fading  away, 

Lost  in  the  dying  day, 

The  Genii  vanished  from  sea  and  shore. 

Loudly  lamented  the  winds  ;  the  sun 

Sunk  among  vapors  ashy  and  dun, 

The  rain-clouds  sobbed  as  the  niMit  bejmn. 

O  O  ' 

The  island  trembled  and  quaked  with  woe. 
There  were  sounds  of  feet  going  to  and  fro 
On  the  ocean's  echoing  floor, 
But  moaning  tempest,  nor  midnight  rain, 
Nor  morning  sunlight  could  call  a^ain 

O  O  *-- 

The  Genii  forth.     With  charm  and  sign 

They  had  touched  each  gem  of  their  boundless 

store, 

The  door  was  sealed  of  each  golden  mine, 
The  pathway  darkened  forevermore. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  ROSE. 

LONG  ago  a  lovely  wood  nymph, 

Flora's  fairest  child, 
Roamed  Arcadia's  velvet  meadows, 

Silent,  shy,  and  wild, 

Until  Death,  enamored,  met  her 

In  her  beauty's  glow, 
Touched  her  with  his  lip  of  marble, 

Kissed  her  cheek  to  snow. 

Flora  found  her  'mid  the  blossoms 

Beautiful  and  still. 
"  Help  ! '    she  cried,  "  ye  happy  dwellers 

On  the  purple  hill ! 


"  Wrest  from  Death  the  fairest  being 

o 

Ever  missed  from  earth  ; 
Let  the  flower  of  nymphs  inherit 
A  celestial  birth." 

See  the  shining  ones  descending ! 

<~>  o 

All  Arcadia  gleams. 

29 


30  LEGENDS. 

First  Apollo  warms  her  forehead 
With  electric  beams : 

Bacchus  bathes  her  lips  with  nectar 

Worthy  of  the  god  : 
Her  wrhite  feet  Vertumnus  covers 

With  a  fragrant  sod. 

Lo !  the  radiant  transformation  ! 

One  by  one  unclose 
Tendrils,  leaves,  and  snowy  petals 

Of  the  perfect  Rose ! 

All  the  nymph's  remembered  graces 

Hover  round  the  flower, 
Sweetness,  tenderness,  and  passion 

Still  her  beauty's  dower. 

Soon  the  praise  of  the  Immortals 

To  a  richer  flush 
Warms  the  rose  —  her  colors  brighten 

To  Aurora's  blush ; 

Then  the  nightingale  in  rapture 

Warbles  sweet  and  long 
Till  a  hue  of  love's  vermilion 

Answers  to  his  song. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  HOSE.  31 

"  Bloom  forever  nymph  enchanted ! ' 

The  Olympians  cry  — 
"  Kindred  both  to  earth  and  heaven, 

Thou  shalt  never  die  !  r 

Down  through  centuries  of  blossom, 

<3  t 

Ages  of  delight, 
Still  the  royal  rose  of  summer 
Opens  on  our  sight. 

And  the  half-bewildered  fancy 

Through  the  fragrant  bowers 
Searches  for  the  haunting  mystery 

Of  this  flower  of  flowers. 

'T  is  the  nymph  so  deftly  hidden 

In  a  leafy  shrine, 
In  her  golden  heart  still  throbbing 

Memories  divine. 

Ever  silent,  ever  seeing, 

Every  heart  she  knows,  — 
All  thy  love,  thy  hope,  thy  longing 

Whisper  to  the  Rose ! 


BALDUR  THE   BEAUTIFUL. 

IN  the  far  north,  when  the  midsummer  night 
Is  but  the  sunset  wedded  to  the  light 
Of  a  new  morning,  upon  cliff  and  hill 
Burns  the  bale-fire  to  Baldur :  as  its  flame 
Salutes  the  sleepless  sun,  the  Norsemen  still 

Utter  that  sacred  name, 
And  year  by  year  the  wonder-myth  is  told 
Of  Baldur,  joy  of  men  and  gods  in  days  of  old ! 

On  royal  Asgard's  height 
No  god  like  Baldur  beamed  upon  the  sight. 
Others  were  mighty,  —  he  was  pure  as  light. 
Pleasant  his  voice  as  rivulets,  his  eyes 
Sun  bright  and  radiant  as  midsummer  skies, 
And  his  long  yellow  locks  gave  forth  perfumes 
When  the  wind-giant  shook  with  glee  his  eagle 
plumes. 

All  living  things  adored  him.     Singing  birds 
Their   joyance   caught  from  listening  to   his 
words, 

32 


BALDUR   THE  BEAUTIFUL.  33 

Flames,  floods,  winds,  lightnings,  in  accordant 

breath 
Vowed  that  to  him  should  come  no  stroke  of 

death. 
The  ores  and  rocks,  the  mosses,  vines,  and  trees, 

The  strong,  tumultuous  seas 
Gave  glad  response,  and  it  was  sung  and  said 
By  all  the  beams  above,  the  shades  below, 
The  snow-white  feet  of  Baldur  ne'er  should 
tread 

The  path  of  wail  and  woe 
Down  to  the  ice-walled  dwelling  of  the  dead. 
One    thing    alone    was     dumb,  —  the    creeping 
mistletoe  ! 

Thus  in  no  fear  of  death,  the  gods  at  play 
Made  him  their  target,  Avhile  the  midnight  sun 
Smiled  o'er  the  wide,  pale  moors  with  mellow 

ray, 

Half  evening  and  half  day, 
And  Baldur  lightly  caught  and  tossed  away 
Sword,  lance,  or  arrow,  till  with  victories  won 
His  brow  grew  dazzling,  and  the  farthest  fields 
Of  Ass-ard  were  illumined,  and  the  shields 

O  ' 

Upon  Valhalla  with  his  image  shone. 

Then  stepped  the  blind  old  god 
Hoder  upon  the  arrow-sprinkled  sod  ; 


34  LEGENDS. 

He  too  would  share  the  merriment.     Ah!  woe! 
To    Baldur's    heart    sped     straight     the     fated 
mistletoe ! 

Beautiful  as  a  marble  god  he  lay, 

When  life  had  ebbed  away, 
Or  like  a  rose  tree  in  its  prime  cut  down 

With  all  its  flowery  crown. 
Time  never  knew  a  more  despairing  cry 

Than  smote  the  startled  sky. 
It  reached   the   utmost  depths  of  death  and 

night, 
And  Hela,  goddess  terrible  to  sight, 

Trembled  upon  her  throne, 
And  gazed  on  the  white  ghost  she  dared  not  call 

her  own. 

But  swift  a  messenger  had  followed  him, 

And  at  the  portals  grim 
Knocked   loud.     "  What  ransom,   Hela,   shall 

be  given 

By  heroes  of  the  earth  and  gods  of  Heaven, 
To  win  beloved  Baldur  back  to  life  ? 
Already  discord  mutters  sounds  of  strife 
And  clouds  of  vengeance  gather.     Speak  and 

take 
The  wealth  of  land  and  ocean  for  his  sake ! r 


BALDUR   THE  BEAUTIFUL.  35 

And  as  Valhalla's  message  borne  above 
The  mists  of  Nifflehem,  on  wings  of  love, 
Readied  Hela's  seat,  with  sudden  pity  moved, 
She  spoke  —  "If  Baldur  was  so  greatly  loved, 
Bid  all  the   world  to  weep ;  the  heart-wrung 

moan 
Of  every  living  thing  may  melt  Death's  heart 

of  stone." 

The  wide  world  heard  and  with  a  rain  of  tears 
Gave  answer,  but  in  all  the  countless  years 
Baldur  returns  not,  and  no  later  skies 
Have  smiled  upon  his  vanished  Paradise. 
Though  the  soft  falling  dews  bring  new-born 

o  o  o 

day 

"With  fresh,  alluring  ray, 
The  winter  frosts  dissolve  in  penitent  grief 

And  open  bud  and  leaf, 
Baldur  the  Beautiful  takes  not  his  place 
Fairest  of  human  as  of  godlike  race, 
Earth  has  not  tears  enough  to  bring  again 

O  O         O 

Lost  innocence,  pure  peace,  —  Heaven's  primal 


THE   GARDEN  OF  IREM. 

WHEEE  burns  beneath  Arabia's  dazzling  sky 
The  desert  waste  of  Aden,  leafless,  bare, 
A  stately  garden  on  the  Elysian  air 

Its  beauty  shed,  entrancing  every  eye. 
An  oasis  of  green, 

Brilliant  with  flowers  and  silvery  waters'  sheen. 

The  fig  and  olive  yielded  fragrant  shade, 

The  vine  with  royal  purple  decked  the  wall ; 
Sweet  was  the  music  of  the  fountain's  fall, 

Whose  dancing  drops  among  the  roses  played, 
And  all  the  balmy  night 

The  bulbul  trilled  his  tremulous 


A  palace  in  the  midst  arose,  whose  towers 
The  sunshine  mocked  with  gilded  opulence, 
Its  inner  court  reflected  rays  intense, 
Inlaid  with  gems  that  sparkled  'mid  the  flowers. 

Through  glistening  wires  of  gold, 
Birds  rainbow-hued  their  plaintive  numbers  told. 

36 


THE  GARDEN  OF  IREM.  37 

The  doors  were  ever  open,  and  the  sound 
Of  ceaseless  mirth  made  day  most  musical, 
Never  was  heard  the  trumpet's  warning  call, 

For  feast  and  pageant  led  the  year  around. 
Till  Irem's  happy  name 

The  symbol  of  terrestrial  bliss  became. 

Then  suddenly  —  while  yet  the  warbling  lute 
Vibrated  to  the  dancer's  jewelled  feet, 
The  Simoom  of  the  desert,  fierce  and  fleet, 

Swept  by,  and  Irem  was  forever  mute ! 
A  blinding  sea  of  sand 

Hid  the  delight  of  all  the  mourning  land. 

O  O 

Long  ages  passed ;   and  men  had  ceased  to  heed 
The  story,  till  Colabah  sought  one  day 
A  camel  which  had  wandered  far  away 

Beyond  Al  Ahkaf's  dreary  plain  to  feed ; 
And  as  the  hour  grew  late 

He  found  himself  within  a  palace  gate. 

High,  gilded  towers  within  a  garden  rare, 

A  blooming  waste  from  whence  all  life  had  flown, 
For  vacant  windows  in  the  sunlight  shone 

And  fruit,  unpluck'd,  with  sweets  oppress'd  the  air. 
'Mid  creamy  blossoms  hung 

Cages  of  twisted  gold  that  empty  swung. 


38  LEGENDS. 

A  moment  with  strange  rapture  he  perceived 
The  blaze  of  beauty,  then  the  deathly  calm 
Smote  him  with  sudden  sense  of  nameless 

harm. 
Backward  he  turned ;  yet  fain  to  be  believed, 

He  grasped  with  hasty  hand 
A  few,  bright  pebbles  from  the  sparkling  sand. 

Then  swiftly  fleeing,  to  his  comrades  bore 
The  tale  of  Irem's  splendor  lost  and  found ; 
Nor   could  they   scoff,   when,   from    his   robe 

unbound, 
He  showed  his  treasure  of  mysterious  ore. 

For  lo  !  the  sunset  kissed 
Rare  stones  of  topaz,  agate,  amethyst ! 

Vainly  at   morning's   break  they   searched  the 

plain 

For  its  hid  treasure.     The  unanswering  sands 
Kept  well  the  secret  of  their  Genii's  hands, 
ISTor  yielded  Irem  to  the  world  again. 

But  with  serenest  flame 
Still  glowed  the  gems  and  told  Colabah's  fame. 

Ah !  thus  the  Bard  whom  inspiration  leads 
Into  the  realm  of  visionary  thought. 
In  hidden  paths,  by  bowers  divinely  wrought, 


THE  GARDEN  OF  I  HEM.  39 

Upon  enchanted  fruits  his  fancy  feeds. 

Till  suddenly  he  spies 
Unreal  splendors  deck  his  Paradise, — 

Then  fleeing,  half  in  rapture,  half  in  fright, 
He  seeks  the  world  of  daily  life  once  more : 

•/ 

The  charm  is  lost,  the  bloom,  the  brilliance 

o'er. 

Yet  happy  if  he  gathered  in  his  flight, 
To  shine  through  many  days, 
One  priceless  gem  of  beauty,  love  or  praise. 


ST.   GREGORY'S  GUEST. 

AT  St.  Andrew's  Convent  gate 
Gregory,  monk  of  pious  fame, 

Day  by  day  at  vesper  bell 

Heard  a  beggar  call  his  name. 


oo" 


And  from  prayer  or  chanted  hymn 
By  unwearied  patience  led, 

Still  wTith  helpful  word  and  gift 
He  the  stranger  comforted. 

All  he  gave  :  the  relic  last, 
Dearest  of  his  meagre  store, 

Not  till  then  he  pitying  plead  — 
"  Importune  me,  friend,  no  more  ! ' 

Years  passed  on  ;  the  lowly  monk 
Sat  upon  the  pontiff's  throne, 

The  tiara,  with  the  heart 

Of  all  Rome,  was  now  his  own. 

Yet  in  high  as  low  estate 

Gave  he  richly  from  his  store, 

40 


ST.   GREGORY'S  GUEST.  41 

Twelve  poor  men  each  eventide 
Supped  within  his  palace  door. 

And  as  once  he  sat  with  them, 
Earnest  each  one's  need  to  know, 

He  perceived  a  stranger  guest 
All  the  others  placed  below. 

To  his  steward  beckoned  he  — 
"  One  unbidden  friend  is  here  — 

Go,  salute  him !  bid  him  take 
Freely  of  our  evening  cheer." 

Down  the  room  the  servant  passed  ;  — 

"  Only  twelve  are  here  to  night." 
"  Count  again  !  behold  he  sits 

d? 

Where  the  sunshine  lingers  bright ; 

O  O  •* 

"  See  his  yellow,  flowing  hair 
Blending  with  the  sunset  flame  ! 

Pale  his  brow,  serene  his  gaze  — 

I  would  know  from  whence  he  came." 

Once  again  with  troubled  haste 
Up  and  down  the  steward  glides  ; 

"  Twelve  good  pilgrims  sup  with  thee, 
And  no  alien  'mid  them  hides." 


42  LEGENDS. 

"  It  is  well,"  the  Father  said, 
But  his  heart  within  him  shook  5 

He  perceived  that  in  their  midst 
One  unseen  the  feast  partook  ! 

On  the  room  a  silence  fell, 

Silence  as  of  heavenly  grace  — 
Ah !  how  burned  the  sunset  gold 

On  each  pilgrim's  bended  face, 

And  upon  the  threshold  poised, 

Mindful  of  the  unwonted  spell, 
Lo !  a  silver  plumaged  dove 

Trilled  a  mellow  canticle  ! 

One  by  one  the  guests  withdrew, 

Then  the  stranger  coming  near 
Silent  paused  —  the  pontiff's  lips 

Trembling  asked  —  "  What  dost  thou  here  ?  " 

"  Gregory !  at  St.  Andrew's  gate 

Oft  to  me  thy  alms  were  given, 
Fear  not  now  thy  soul's  desire 

In  my  name  to  ask  of  Heaven  ! " 

As  he  spoke  celestial  rays 

Soft  around  his  forehead  flowed, 


ST.  GREGORY'S  GUEST.  43 

And  his  form  from  earth  upraised 
In  a  violet  nimbus  glowed. 

Slow  the  shining  vision  passed  — 
All  his  soul  in  thanks  outpoured, 

Blessed  Gregory  cried  aloud, 
"  I  have  entertained  the  Lord  ! " 


A  STORM  FANTASY. 

THE  lonely  wind  a  Banshee  of  despair 

Wails  through  the  wintry  night, 
And  the  affrighted  Moon,  no  longer  fair, 

Veils  her  wan  face  from  sight. 
She  knows  the  signals  of  that  voice  and  why 
With  his  keen  moan  he  desolates  the  sky. 

The  sad,  sad  Rain  comes  sobbing  at  his  call, 
She  smites  the  earth  with  tears  — 

"  There  is  no  rest,"  she  sighs  —  "  no  rest  in  all 
The  ever-dying  years. 

In  cloudland  hid  I  would  forever  stay, 

Why  call  me  thence  to  weep  my  life  away  ? ' 

Thus  as  the  ages  pass ;  and  who  may  know 

Or  dare  to  tell  again 
The  legend  of  these  spectres  and  their  woe, 

The  grieving  Wind  and  Rain  ? 

O  O 

Lovers  perchance  in  some  primeval  world, 
For  darkest  treachery  into  darkness  hurled  ! 

44 


A   STORM  FANTASY.  45 

Still  mocked  by  hope  and  haunted  by  regret 

They  seek  the  earth  again, 
Yearning  to  meet  each  other  they  forget 

Their  wish  is  always  vain. 
For  he  has  but  a  voice  of  wordless  woe, 
She  has  but  tears  that  blind  her  as  they  flow. 

O  lost,  lost  spirits  of  the  storm  and  night ! 

Listening  to  you  I  know 
There  is  a  depth  to  which  no  ray  of  light 

From  Heaven's  expanse  can  flow. 
Come,  Ans^el  of  the  morning,  come  ao-ain  ! 

*  d?  CJ  '  ^j 

Speak  "Peace  —  be  still!  "unto  the  Wind  and 
Rain. 


TUBA. 


'T  is  written  on  the  flowery  page 
Of  Islam's  visionary  sage, 

That  Tuba  tree  of  happiness, 
Whose  fruit  shall  all  believers  bless, 

Hath  roots  whose  fibres  strong  and  deep 
Beneath  the  world's  foundations  sleep, 

Yet  never  wind  of  earth  shall  blow 
The  odors  from  one  spicy  bough. 

Far  up  beyond  the  walls  of  time 
The  star-bespangled  branches  climb, 

Up  through  the  musky  gardens  where 
Eternal  sunshine  gilds  the  air, 

And  winged  Houris  flutter  by 
To  low,  delicious  melody. 

There  over  every  palace  door 
The  boughs  of  Tuba  fragrance  pour  — 

46 


TUBA.  47 

And  sweet  bells  hung  amid  the  flowers 

~ 

Ring  in  and  out  the  joyous  hours. 

Has  not  the  orient  sage  declared 

A  truth  which  every  soul  has  shared  ? 

We  pluck  the  green  leaves  of  delight  — 
The  branches  reach  beyond  our  sight ; 

The  germ  of  happiness  is  ours, 
But  airs  diviner  hide  the  flowers. 

Here  disappointment,  gaunt  and  gray, 
Salutes  us  daily  on  our  way, 

The  truest  love  knows  direst  loss, 
The  surest  triumph  bears  a  cross, 

And  yet  the  soul  may  smile  on  fate 
And  with  most  loyal  patience  wait, 

Believing  that  on  heights  unknown 

V I  ^J 

She  yet  will  come  unto  her  own  — 

Where  Islam's  tree,  transfigured,  gleams 
With  fairer  fruit  than  Islam  dreams  ! 


IN  days  of  old, 

In  solitude  and  silence  grew  the  hour 
When  God  and  Nature  first  beheld  unfold 

The  solitary  flower. 

Purple  as  night 

Its  petals  opened  in  the  forest  gloom, 
And  the  winds  pausing  in  their  seaward  flight 

Inhaled  the  strange  perfume. 

The  hoary  oak 

Felt  in  its  branches  a  responsive  thrill, 
The  eagle  from  his  lonely  eyrie  spoke, 

And  all  again  was  still. 


n. 

Unwritten  ages  rolled 
Into  the  past,  and  as  each  century's  bell 
Struck  the  full  hour,  the  blossom  would  unfold, 

With  none  its  tale  to  tell. 

48 


TEE  CENTURY  PLANT.  49 

At  last  the  silence  ceased, 
The  desert  wilderness  a  voice  had  found. 
Strange  wanderers  from  the  overflowing  East 

Sought  here  a  hunting  ground. 

The  shadow-haunted  glades 
Echoed  the  savage  song — the  warrior  cry  — 
And  wild,  barbaric  worship  filled  the  shades 

With  awful  mystery. 

Life  warm  and  new 

Through  the  dull  fibres  of  the  tree  was  shed; 
The  swelling  buds  revealed  a  living  hue  — 

Tinge  of  the  morning  red. 


in. 

Not  unblest 

The  thousand  years  of  silence  and  of  night ; 
Unto  the  hidden  gardens  of  the  West 

God  said  —  "  Let  there  be   light !  " 

And  behold ! 

It  blooms  again,  the  latest  flower  of  Time ! 
In  the  dark  ages  who  could  have  foretold 

The  glory  of  its  prime  ? 


50  LEGENDS. 

Palmiest  days 

Of  Grecian  grandeur  or  of  Roman  pride 
Saw  not  their  century  bloom  in  such  a  blaze 

Of  fame,  full-orbed,  world-wide. 

Heaven,  bend  low ! 

From  the  last,  lingering  gloom  our  land  release ! 
Let  the  perfection  of  the  ages  blow 

White  as  the  plume  of  Peace ! 


A  TUSCAN  LEGEND. 

good  St.  Ambrose  paused  at  close  of  day 
Before  a  Tuscan  noble's  open  door, 
With  welcome  words  the  host  his  entrance  urged 
And  spread  before  him  of  his  choicest  store. 

Within,  the  palace  shone  with  gems  of  art, 
Bronze,  marble,  gold,  in  forms   antique   and 
rare, 

Refreshing  fountains  tossed  a  snowy  spray, 
And  sumptuous  roses  sweetened  all  the  air. 

The  fasting  saint  with  thanks  the  food  partook, 
And  with  his  fellow-pilgrims  silent  shared, 

Then,  still  reclining  at  the  table,  sought 
Of  his  kind  host  if  well  or  ill  he  fared. 

Glowed  with  a  haughty  joy  the  Tuscan's  brow, — 
"All   things   are  well   with   me,"   his    proud 

reply  — 

•'My  wealth  provides  for  each  luxurious  want, 
Nor  knows  ambition  one  unanswered  sigh. 

51 


52  LEGENDS. 

"My  slaves,  obedient,  watch  my  lightest  look; 

My  children,  beautiful,  enhance  my  joy  ; 
Pain,  mourning,  in  this  palace  are  unknown, 

My  state  is  happiness  without  alloy." 

What    said   the    saint  ?     Up   from   that  lordly 

board 

He  rose  in  haste,  his  visnge  pale  with  fear, 
And  to  the  startled  pilgrims  cried  aloud, 
"  Flee  from  this  place !   the  Lord  abides  not 
here." 

Outspoken  saint !     Thy  words  may  well  convey 
Terror  and  comfort  to  the  end  of  time ; 

Woe,  to  the  soul  sufficient  to  itself, 
But  to  the  stricken,  prophecy  sublime. 

Grief  is  the  shadow  of  the  Lord's  approach, 
Darkness,    the    pathway    of    the    Bethlehem 
star,  — 

Let  him  exult  whom  sacred  sorrow  leads 
To  reach  for  God,  and  find  He  is  not  far! 


THE  HELIOTROPE. 

SOMEWHERE  't  is  told  that  in  an  Eastern  land, 
Clasped  in  the  dull  palm  of  a  mummy's  hand 
A  few  lii^ht  seeds  were  found  :  with  wondering 


o 

eyes 
And  words  of  awe  was  lifted  up  the  prize. 

And  much   they  marvelled  what   could    be   so 

dear 

Of  herb  or  flower  as  to  be  treasured  here, 
What  sacred  vow  had  made  the  dying  keep 
So  close  this  token  for  his  last  long  sleep. 

None  ever  knew,  but  in  the  fresh,  warm  earth 
The  cherished  seeds  sprang  to  a  second  birth, 
And  eloquent  once  more  with  love  and  hope 
Burst  into  bloom  the  purple  heliotrope. 

Embalmed,  perhaps,  with  sorrow's  fiery  tears, 
Out  of  the  silence  of  a  thousand  years 
It  answered  back  the  passion  of  the  past 
With  the  pure  breath  of  perfect  peace  at  last. 

53 


54  LEGENDS. 

O  pulseless  heart !  as  ages  pass,  sleep  well ! 
The  purple  flower  thy  secret  will  not  tell, 
But  only  to  our  eager  quest  reply, 
"  Love,  hidden  in  the  grave,  can  never  die." 


THE  FIRST  AT  THE  FEAST. 

ST.  MARTIX  once,  an  honored  guest, 

Sat  at  the  royal  board  ; 
With  his  own  hand  a  cup  of  wine 

The  gracious  sovereign  poured, 
And  bade,  with  smiles,  the  favored  priest 
Drink  first,  as  greatest  at  the  feast. 

The  father  took  the  sparkling  cup,  — 
With  priceless  gems  it  blazed, — 

And  down  the  gleaming  banquet  hall 
In  thoughtful  silence  gazed. 

How  shone  the  place  with  splendors  rare ! 

Was  he  indeed  the  greatest  there  ? 

What  to  the  King  of  Kings  availed 

This  pomp  of  earthly  state  ? 
What  unto  Him  were  crown  and  throne 

And  soldiers  at  the  gate  ? 
The  flowers,  the  lights,  the  lustrous  gold, 
The  music  that  voluptuous  rolled? 

55 


56  LEGENDS. 

Would  Heaven's  high  Sovereign  deem  him  great. 

O  O  O  ' 

Because  a  fleeting  hour 
He  sunned  himself  in  royal  smiles 

And  shared  imperial  power  ? 
Ah  !  nobler  far  the  humblest  there 
Who  meekly  served  in  trust  and  prayer. 

"Not  unto  me  !  "  he  spoke  at  last  — 

And  beckoned  with  his  hand 
To  a  poor  priest  who  waiting  stood 

To  hear  his  least  command. 
"  By  worldly  glory  undefiled, 
Drink  thou,  our  Master's  worthier  child  ! ' 

The  priest  obeyed  ;  the  monarch  heard 

A  voice  beyond  his  own ; 
Nobles  and  warriors  bowed  in  awe 

Of  a  superior  throne. 
And  in  the  hush  St.  Martin's  face 
Seemed  to  illumine  all  the  place ! 


TEARS  OF  ISIS. 

WHEN  Isis,  by  true  mother  love  oppressed, 
Held  wounded  Horus  to  her  goddess  breast, 
Each  tear  that  touched  the  sympathetic  earth 
To  some  rich,  aromatic  herb  gave  birth. 

Such  healing  sprang  from  her  celestial  pain, 
Mortals  no  longer  seek  relief  in  vain, 
For  oft  as  spring  awakes  the  slumbering  years, 
In  wood  and  meadow  blossom  Isis'  tears. 

O  Goddess  of  the  starry  lotus  bloom  ! 
Thou  didst  foreshadow  many  a  lonely  doom  ; 
Thy  sorrow  by  divinest  alchemy 
Could    comfort    others,  —  who    could    comfort 
thee? 


57 


VIDAR  THE  SILENT. 

WHEN  the  last  bird  flutters  southward 

As  the  sunlight  fainter  glows, 
And  into  the  dim  November 

A  pensive  stillness  flows, 
When  the  mountain  summits  wrap  them 

In  robes  of  brown  and  gold, 
I  think  of  the  Norsemen's  Vidar, 

The  silent  god  of  old. 

He  dwells  in  the  boundless  forests, 

In  pathless  wilds  unknown, 
He  loves  the  breeze-rocked  prairies, 

And  the  mountains  are  his  own. 
In  the  bloom  of  songful  summer 

He  shuns  the  haunts  of  men, 
But  he  comes  with  the  days  of  darkness 

To  look  on  the  world  again. 

By  the  bleak  and  desolate  sea-shore 
The  waves  their  tumult  cease, 

The  rivulets  know  his  footfall 
And  tremble  into  peace. 

•58 


VIDAR  THE  SILENT.  59 

The  wind  steals  into  the  forest, 
The  tall  trees  watchful  stand, 
And  the  stars  hang  mute  and  pensive 
As  he  roams  the  leafless  land. 

• 

No  voice  nor  speech  has  Vidar, 

And  his  features  no  man  knows, 
But  he  lays  his  hand  on  the  heart-strings 

And  wonderful  music  flows ; 
As  if  the  reverberations 

Of  a  long  and  sorrowful  past 
Were  slowly  ascending  and  blending 

With  the  peace  that  shall  come  at  last. 

Thus  Vidar  the  Silent  passes 

Over  the  world's  wide  space, 
Giving  to  all  who  greet  him 

One  beautiful  hour  of  grace. 
Then  welcome  the  tuneless  branches ! 

Welcome  the  darkened  days ! 
There  shall  be  light  on  the  shadows 

And  in  the  stillness,  praise. 


SONG  OF  PLYMOUTH  ROCK. 

A  THOUSAND  years  I  kept 

My  watch  by  the  slumbering  sea, 

A  thousand  omens  read 

Of  the  day  that  was  coming  to  me. 

'T  was  uttered  by  wind  and  wave 
And  whispered  by  cloud  and  star, 

"  The  soul  of  Freedom  sleeps  until 
The  c  Mayflower  '  sails  from  far." 

The  tide  came  surging  up 

From  the  depths  of  ocean's  caves, 

And  ever  a  promise  brought 

Of  the  bark  that  would  cross  the  waves  , 

The  tide  went  rolling  down 

O 

In  surf  and  swell  and  foam, 
And  ever  I  dreamed  it  ran  to  bid 
The  "  Mayflower  "  welcome  home  ! 

It  fell  with  the  falling  snow, 
The  word  of  fate  at  last, 

60 


OF  PL  Y MOUTH  ROCK.  61 

And  the  hailing  bell  of  freedom  rang 
In  the  stormy,  wintry  blast. 

"  O  sea ! "  I  said  —  "  be  kind ! 

Be  faithful  sky  and  star  ! 
With  priceless  freight  to  all  the  land 

The  "  Mayflower  "  rides  afar. 

She  was  moored  within  the  bay, 

Pale  blossom  of  the  sea  — 
And  the  boats  went  to  and  fro 

Until  all  were  brought  to  me. 

O  I  had  waited  long 

For  the  touch  of  those  pilgrim  feet : 
The  wintry  air  grew  redolent 

With  incense  strange  and  sweet, 

For  the  gate  of  heaven  swung  wide 

And  angels  thronged  the  air, 
As  that  Pilgrim  band  their  voices  raised 

O 

In  fervent  praise  and  prayer. 

They  were  feeble,  faint  and  few, 

That  little  sea-tossed  flock, 
But  never  en  earth  will  the  echo  die, 

Of  that  prayer  upon  the  Rock. 


62  LEGENDS. 

The  wanderers  passed  on 

To  watch  and  toil  and  die, 
And  the  "  Mayflower  "  homeward  sailed 

And  was  lost  in  the  morning  sky ; 

But  wide  over  all  the  land, 

Free  as  the  sunlight's  ray, 
Grow  the  fearless  faith,  the  fervent  zeal 

Which  came  to  shore  that  day. 

Now  evermore  I  watch 

By  the  side  of  the  sounding  sea, 
Muse  and  ponder  and  dream 

Of  the  glory  that  came  to  me. 

For  Freedom  crossed  the  deep 

To  a  heritage  unknown ; 
The  "  Mayflower  "  was  her  ark  of  hope, 

The  Rock  her  altar-stone. 


NOROMBEGA. 

MIDSUMMER'S  crimson  moon 
Above  the  hills  like  some  night-opening  rose 
Uplifted,  pours  its  beauty  down  the  vale 

Where  broad  Penobscot  flows. 

The  night  is  all  in  bloom 

With  subtle  sweetness  from  the  skies  distilled, 
The  vesper  wind  in  whispers  steals  along, 

By  the  soft  silence  thrilled. 

Of  old  the  fairy  world 
Held  royal  revel  on  midsummer's  eve, 
Once  more  along  the  moonbeams  they  may  come 

The  twinkling  dance  to  weave ; 

Or  by  the  moonlight  spell 
Entranced,  and  listening  with  attentive  ear, 
The  drowsy  whispers  of  the  ripening  leaves 

And  harvests,  I  may  hear. 

Now  on  the  field  of  night 
No  longer  blooms  one  solitary  rose! 

63 


64  LEGENDS. 

With  countless  groups  of  silver-petalled  stars 
The  infinite  garden  glows, 

And  the  transfigured  moon, 
Grown  paler,  clearer,  like  a  lily  white, 
Immaculate  in  beauty,  hangs  above 

The  starry  wreath  of  night. 

A  splendid  glamour  drowns 
All  sound  in  silence;  even  the  lapping  wave 
Just  trembles  to  the  shore,  with  stilly  touch 

The  lonely  rock  to  lave. 

And  I  remember  now, 

That  this  is  haunted  ground.     In  ages  past 
Here  stood  the  storied  Norombecja's  walls 

O 

Magnificent  and  vast. 

The  streets  were  ivory-paved, 
The  stately  walls  were  built  of  golden  ore, 
Its  domes  outshone  the  sunset,  and  full  boughs 

O 

Hesperian  fruitage  bore. 

And  up  this  winding  flood 
Has  wandered  many  a  sea-tossed,  daring  bark, 
While  ea^er  eyes  have  scanned  the  ruined  shore, 

O  *  ~C? 

Or  pierced  the  wild  wood  dark  ; 


NOROMBEGA.  65 

But  watched  in  vain  :  afar 
They  saw  the  spires  gleam  golden  on  the  sky, 
The  distant  drum-beat  heard,  or  bugle  note, 

Wound  wildly,  fitfully, — 

Banners  of  strange  device 

Beckoned  from  distant  heights,  yet  as  the  stream 
Narrowed  among  the  hills,  the  city  fled, 

A  mystery,  or  a  dream. 

In  the  deep  forest  hid 
Like  the  enchanted  princess  of  romance, 
Wooing  an  endless  search,  yet  still  secure 

In  her  unbroken  trance. 

0  city  of  the  Past ! 

No  mirage  of  the  wilderness  wert  thou  ! 
Though  yet  unfreed  from  the  mysterious  spell, 

1  deem  thee  slumbering  now. 

Perhaps  invisible  feet 

White-sandalled  pass  amid  the  moonbeams  pale, 
Yon  shadow-wave  may  be  some  lordly  barge 

Drifting  with  phantom  sail. 

The  legend  was  not  all 
A  myth,  it  was  a  prophecy  as  well : 


66  LEGENDS. 

In  Norombega's  cloud-wrapt  palaces 
The  living  yet  shall  dwell. 

Fed  by  its  hundred  lakes 
Here  shall  the  river  run  o'er  golden  sands, 
These  hills  in  burnished  tower  and  temple  shine 

Beneath  the  builder's  hands  ! 

Where  tarries  still  the  hour 
When  the  true  knight   shall  the    enchantment 

O 

break, 

Unveil  the  peerless  city  of  the  east, 
The  charmed  princess  wake  ? 

Till  then,  O  River,  tell 

To  none  but  dreaming  bards  the  Future's  boon ! 
Till  then  guard  thou  the  mystery  of  the  vale, 

Midsummer  midnight  moon  ! 


KINEO. 

THE    LEGEND    OF    MOOSSHEAD    LAKE. 

How  beautiful  the  morning  breaks 
Upon  the  King  of  mountain  lakes ! 
The  forests,  far  as  eye  can  reach, 
Stretch  green  and  still  from  either  beach, 
And  leagues  away  the  water's  gleam 
Resplendent  in  the  sunrise  beam  ; 
Yet  feathery  vapors,  circling  slow 
Wreathe  the  dark  brow  of  Kineo. 

The  hermit  Mount  in  sullen  scorn 
Repels  the  rosy  touch  of  morn, 
As  some  remorseful,  lonely  heart, 
From  human  pleasure  set  apart, 
Shrinks  even  from  the  tender  touch 
Of  pity,  lest  it  yield  too  much, 
So  speechless  still  to  friend  or  foe, 
Frowns  the  black  cliff  of  Kineo. 

Yet,  as  the  whispering  ripples  break 
From  the  still  surface  of  the  lake 
On  the  repellent  rocks,  they  seem 
To  murmur  low,  as  in  a  dream, 

67 


68  LEGENDS. 

The  mountain's  name,  and  day  by  day 
The  listening  breezes  bear  away 
A  memory  of  the  long  ago., 
A  sad,  wild  tale  of  Kineo. 

How  many  moons  can  no  man  say 
O'er  heaven's  blue  sea  have  sailed  away, 
Since  Kineo  and  his  fleet  canoe 
First  vanished  from  his  kindred's  view. 
Hunter  and  warrior,  lithe  and  keen, 
No  brave  on  all  the  lake  was  seen 
Whose  wigwani  could  such  trophies  show, 
As  the  green  roof  of  Kineo. 

But  wrathful,  jealous,  quick  to  strife, 
He  lived  a  passion-darkened  life ; 
Even  Maquaso,  his  mother,  fled 
His  baneful  lodge  in  mortal  dread. 
Then  gathering  round  the  midnight  fire, 
The  old  men  spake  with  threatenings  dire 
"  Out  from  our  councils  he  must  go, 
The  demon-haunted  Kineo  !  " 

In  sullen  and  remorseful  mood 
He  gave  himself  to  solitude. 
Up  the  wild  rocks  by  night  he  bore 
Of  all  he  prized  a  stealthy'store,  — 


KINEO.  69 

Flint,  arrows,  knife  and  birch.     Who  knows 
But  some  dark  lock  or  dead  wild  rose, 
The  phantom  of  an  untold  woe, 
Shared  the  lone  haunt  of  Kineo  ? 

The  mountain  was  his  own  ;  than  he 
None  other  dared  its  mystery. 
None  sought  to  meet  the  savage  glare 
Of  the  wild  hunter  in  his  lair : 
But  when  far  up  the  mountain  side 
Each  night  a  lurid  flame  they  spied, 
The  watchful  red  men  muttered  low, 
"  There  hides  our  brother  Kineo." 

Years  passed.     Among  the  storm-swept  pines 

From  moon  to  moon  he  read  the  signs 

Of  blossom  and  decay.     He  knew 

The  eagle  that  familiar  flew 

About  his  path.     The  fearless  bird 

His  melancholy  accents  heard, 

But  glen  or  shore  no  more  might  know 

The  swift,  still  step  of  Kineo, 

Save  once.     His  tribe  in  deadly  fray 
Had  battled  all  the  lowering  day, 
And  many  a  brave  Penobscot's  blood 
Was  mingling  in  the  lake's  pure  flood, 


70  LEGENDS. 

When  like  a  spectre,  through  the  gloom, 
With  gleaming  knife  and  eagle  plume, 
And  glance  that  burned  with  lurid  glow, 
Strode  the  bold  form  of  Kineo ! 

A  hush  like  death  —  and  then  a  cry, 
Fierce  and  exultant,  pierced  the  sky I 
They  rallied  round  that  fiery  plume 
And  smote  the  foe  with  hopeless  doom. 
But  when  the  grateful  warriors  fain 
Would  seek  his  well-known  face  again, 
Their  gifts  and  homage  to  bestow, 
Gone,  like  a  mist,  was  Kineo. 

They  saw  him  not,  but  from  that  hour 
They  bowed  before  his  wizard  power ; 
His  watch-fire  grew  to  be  a  shrine 
Half  terrible  and  half  divine. 
None  ever  knew  when  death  drew  nigh, 
When  into  darker  mystery 
Of  cloud  above  or  deep  below 
Stole  the  sad  ghost  of  Kineo. 

But  when  his  camp-fire  burned  no  more, 
The  solitary  mountain  bore 
His  name;  and  when  at  times  the  sky 
Grew  dark,  a  long,  despairing  sigh 


K1NEO.  71 

Down  the  dark  precipices  rolled 
And  tempest  terrible  foretold. 
The  fishers  feared  the  wind,  the  snow, 
The  lightning,  less  than  Kineo. 

Now  beautiful  the  morning  skies 
Look  on  this  forest  paradise; 
Fresh  voices,  loud  and  joyous,  wake 
The  echoes  of  the  grand  old  lake : 
But  underneath  that  frowning  height 
The  shadow  and  the  spell  of  night 
Come  back :  the  oars  fall  still  and  slow, 
The  waves  sigh,  Peace  to  Jfineof 


THE  BOWDOIN   OAK. 

Planted  in  1802  by  George  Thorndike,  a  member  of  the 
first  class  of  Bowdoin.  He  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
the  only  one  of  that  class  remembered  by  the  students  of 
Bowdoin  to-day.  —  Oration  of  T.  7?.  Simon  ton. 

YE  breezy  boughs  of  Bowdoin's  oak, 

Sing  low  your  summer  rune  ! 
In  murmuring,  rhythmic  tones  respond 

To  every  breath  of  June ; 

And  memories  of  the  joyous  youth, 
Through  all  your  songs  repeat, 

Who  plucked  the  acorn  from  the  twig 
Blown  lightly  to  his  feet, 

And  gayly  to  his  fellows  cried : 

"My  destiny  behold ! 
This  seed  shall  keep  my  memory  green 

In  ages  yet  untold. 

"  I  trust  it  to  the  sheltering  sod, 

I  hail  the  promised  tree  ! 
Sing,  unborn  oak,  through  long  decades, 

And  ever  sing  of  me  ! ' 


THE  BOW  DO  IN  OAK.  1 

By  cloud  and  sunbeam  nourished  well, 

The  tender  sapling  grew, 
Less  stalwart  than  the  rose  which  drank 

From  the  same  cup  of  dew ; 

But  royal  blood  was  in  its  veins, 

Of  true  Hellenic  line, 
And  sunward  reached  its  longing  arms 

With  impulses  divine. 

The  rushing  river  as  it  passed 
Caught  whispers  from  the  tree, 

And  each  returning  tide  brought  back 
The  answer  of  the  sea. 

Till  to  the  listening  groves  a  voice, 

New  and  harmonious,  spoke, 
And  from  a  throne  of  foliage  looked 

The  spirit  of  the  oak  ! 

Then  birds  of  happiest  omen  built 

High  in  its  denser  shade, 
And  grand  responses  to  the  storms 

The  sounding  branches  made. 

Beneath  its  bower  the  bard  beloved 
His  budding  chaplet  wore, 


o 


74  LEGENDS. 

The  wizard  kin<?  of  romance  dreamed 

•^ 

His  wild,  enchanting  lore ; 

And  scholars,  musing  in  its  shade, 
Here  heard  their  country's  cry  — 

Their  lips  gave  back  —  "  O  sweet  it  is 
For  native  land  to  die! ' 

With  hearts  that  burned  they  cast  aside 
These  peaceful,  oaken  bays ; 

The  hero's  blood-red  path  they  trod  — 
Be  theirs  the  hero's  praise. 

Oh,  though  Dodona's  voice  is  hushed, 

A  new,  intenser  flame 
Stirs  the  proud  oak  to  whisper  still 

Some  dear  illustrious  name  ! 

And  what  of  him  whose  happy  mood 
Foretold  this  sylvan  birth  ? 

In  boyhood's  prime  he  sank  to  rest ; 
His  work  was  done  on  earth. 

Brief  was  his  race,  and  light  his  task 

For  immortality, 
His  only  tribute  to  the  years 

The  planting  of  a  tree. 


THE  BOWDOIN  OAK.  75 

Sing  low,  green  oak,  thy  summer  rune, 

Sing  valor,  love  and  truth, 
Thyself  a  fair,  embodied  thought, 

A  living  dream  of  youth. 


LYRICS. 


77 


LTEIOS. 


EASTER  MORNING. 

i. 

OSTEKA  !  spirit  of  springtime, 

Awake  from  thy  slumbers  deep  ! 
Arise  !  and  with  hands  that  are  glowing, 

Put  off  the  white  garments  of  sleep ! 
Make  thyself  fair,  O  goddess ! 

In  new  and  resplendent  array, 
For  the  footsteps  of  Him  who  has  risen 

Shall  be  heard  in  the  dawn  of  day. 

Flushes  the  trailing  arbutus 
Low  under  the  forest  leaves,  — 

A  sign  that  the  drowsy  goddess 
The  breath  of  her  Lord  perceives. 

79 


80  LYRICS. 

While  He  suffered,  her  pulse  beat  numbly ; 

While  He  slept,  she  was  still  with  pain ; 
But  now  He  awakes — 'He  has  risen  — 

Her  beauty  shall  bloom  again. 

O  hark !  in  the  budding  woodlands, 

Now  far,  now  near,  is  heard 
The  first  prelusive  wrarble 

Of  rivulet  and  of  bird. 
O  listen!  the  Jubilate 

From  every  bough  is  poured, 
And  earth  in  the  smile  of  the  springtime 

Arises  to  greet  her  Lord ! 


ii. 

Radiant  goddess  Aurora ! 

Open  the  chambers  of  dawn ; 
Let  the  Hours  like  a  garland  of  graces 

Encircle  the  chariot  of  morn. 
Thou  dost  herald  no  longer  Apollo, 

The  god  of  the  sunbeam  and  lyre ; 
The  pride  of  his  empire  is  ended, 

And  pale  is  his  armor  of  fire. 

From  a  loftier  height  than  Olympus 
Light  flows,  —  from  the  Temple  above, 


EASTER  MORNING.  81 

And  the  mists  of  old  legends  are  scattered 

»37 

In  the  dawn  of  the  Kingj-dom  of  Love. 

O 

Come  forth  from  the  cloudland  of  fable, 
For  day  in  full  splendor  make  room, 

For  a  triumph  that  lost  not  its  glory 
As  it  paused  in  the  sepulchre's  gloom. 

She  comes !  the  bright  goddess  of  morning, 

In  crimson  and  purple  array, 
Far  down  on  the  hill-tops  she  tosses 

The  first  golden  lilies  of  day. 
O'er  the  mountains  her  sandals  are  glowing, 

O'er  the  valleys  she  speeds  on  the  wing, 
Till  earth  is  all  rosy  and  radiant 

For  the  feet  of  the  new-risen  King. 


in. 

Open  the  gates  of  the  Temple ; 

Spread  brandies  of  palm  and  of  bay; 
Let  not  the  spirits  of  Nature 

Alone  deck  the  Conqueror's  way. 
While  Spring  from  her  death-sleep  arises, 

And  joyous  His  presence  awaits, 
While  Morning's  smile  lights  up  the  Heavens, 

Open  the  Beautiful  Gates ! 


82  LYRICS. 

He  is  here !  the  lonsj  watches  are  over, 

o 

The  stone  from  the  grave  rolled  away ; 
"  We  shall  sleep,"  was  the  sigh  of  the  midnight.' 

"  We  shall  rise,"  is  the  song  of  to-day. 
O  Music !  no  longer  lamenting, 

On  pinions  of  tremulous  flame 
Go  soaring  to  meet  the  Beloved, 

O  * 

And  swell  the  new  song  of  His  fame ! 

The  altar  is  snowy  with  blossoms, 

The  font  is  a  vase  of  perfume, 
On  pillar  and  chancel  are  twining 

Fresh  garlands  of  eloquent  bloom. 
Christ  is  risen  !  with  glad  lips  we  utter ; 

And  far  up  the  infinite  height 
Archangels  the  paaan  re-echo, 

And  crown  Him  with  lilies  of  Light ! 


URANIA. 

FROM  what  superior  star 
Gazing,  entranced,  afar, 
Didst  them  first  look  on  earth  when  earth  was 

young  ? 

Thou  whom  the  singers  of  all  days  have  sung, 
Spirit  of  Song !  by  many  names  adored, 
Whose  deep,  sweet  speech,  the  music  of  the 

soul, 

Our  human  utterance  cannot  yet  control, 
Upon  whose  dazzling  shrine  are  ceaseless  offer- 
ings poured. 

When  first  thy  sun-shod  feet 
Pressed  the  new  verdure,  sweet 
With  timid  violet  and  virgin  rose, 
When  first  thy  rainbow  plumage  passing  by, 
The  shepherd  bards  discerned,  ah  !  rapturously 
They  sought  thy  inspiration  to  disclose. 
With  burning  heart  and  glances  raised  above, 
Speech  overflowed  in  song,  and  all  their  theme 
was  love. 

83 


84  LYRICS. 

Nor  didst  thou  linger  long 
In  vales  of  pastoral  song. 
Judea's  harp  thy  fervid  fingers  strung. 
The  groves  of  palm,  the  sacred  rivers  heard, 
The  cedars  upon  Lebanon  were  stirred 
When  David's  lips  immortal  measures  sung. 
And  smoke  of  costliest  odors  rose  to  heaven 
With  chorus  and   response  by   Hebrew  voices 
given. 

On  Orpheus'  glowing  lyre 
Was  laid  thy  touch  of  fire ; 
By  thy  own  lips,  on  Sappho's  brow  was  pressed 
The  mystic  kiss  which  woke  her  soul's  unrest. 
Unveiled  by  thee  in  thy  most  radiant  mood 
The  palaces  that  on  Olympus  stood, 
From    whose    charmed    portals   came    at    thy 

decree 

The  gods  of  earth  and  heaven,  the  nymphs  of 
air  and  sea. 

Then  was  the  age  of  gold, 

When  bards  heroic  told 
Heroic  legends  of  primeval  days. 
Then  had  the  singer  his  full  meed  of  praise, 
For  thou  didst  touch  the  laurel  with  thy  wand, 
And  prince  and  warrior  with  exultant  hand 


URANIA.  85 

Wove  the  bright  bays  around  the  minstrel's 

name. 

Their  valor  was  his  theme ;  his  song  their  surest 
fame. 

Yet  not  by  these  was  seen 
The  splendor  of  thy  mien, 
The  full,  unclouded  glory  of  thy  face ; 
These  caught  but  glimpses  of  the  light  divine, 
And  counting  thee  among  the  "  sacred  nine," 
Groped  in  the  darkness  for  thy  dwelling-place. 
Milton  alone  o'er  elder  bards  prevailed, 
Upon  the  starry  heights  he  saw  thy  brow  unveiled. 

Dearer  through  ages  grown, 
Thou  wilt  not  leave  alone 
The  world  thy  presence  has  made  half  divine. 
Still  countless  votaries  bow  before  thy  shrine ; 
The  Norseman's  ringing  ballad,  the  soft  chime 
Of  Spanish  lute  to  silver-sandalled  rhyme, 
The  hymn  of  freedom  by  the  sunset  sea, 
Or  Persia's  passion-lays,  all  sacred  are  to  thee. 

Some  ave  content  to  reach 
The  still,  inaudible  speech 

Of  winds  and  woods  and  waters'  rhythmic  flow ; 

These  know  thee  best  in  Nature's  whispers  low, 


86  LTEICS. 

And  with  the  hem  of  thy  rich  garment  pressed 
To  tuneful  lips,  they  are  supremely  blest. 
Others  have  caught  a  more  transcendent  gleam, 
And  greet  thee  on  the  heights  of  prophecy  and 
dream. 

» 
Stay,  thou  resplendent  one  ! 

Not  yet  thy  task  is  done,  — 
Not  yet  the  perfect  song  of  ages  sung ! 
A  rose  unblown  it  sleeps  upon  thy  breast, 
Waiting  to  make  some  later  Eden  blest. 
Still  be  the  halo  of  thy  beauty  flung 
Over  dark  days,  dark  years,  until  afar 
Above  the  new  song's  birth,  thou  smilest  like  a 
a  star ! 


ONLY  WAITING. 

ONLY  waiting  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  little  longer  grown, 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown ; 
Till  the  night  of  earth  is  faded 

From  this  heart  once  full  of  day, 
Till  the  dawn  of  Heaven  is  breaking 

Through  the  twilight  soft  and  gray. 

Only  waiting  till  the  reapers 

Have  the  last  sheaf  gathered  home, 
For  the  summer-time  hath  faded 

And  the  autumn  winds  are  come. 
Quickly,  reapers,  gather  quickly 

The  last  ripe  hours  of  my  heart  — 
For  the  bloom  of  life  is  withered, 

And  I  hasten  to  depart. 

Only  waiting  till  the  angels 
Open  wide  the  mystic  gate, 

At  whose  feet  I  long  have  lingered, 
Weary,  poor,  and  desolate. 

87 


88  LYRICS. 

Even  now  I  hear  their  footsteps 
And  their  voices  far  away  : 

If  they  call  me  I  am  waiting,  — 
Only  waiting  to  obey. 


Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 
Are  a  little  longer  grown, 

o         o  / 

Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 
Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown ; 

Then  from  out  the  folded  darkness 
Holy,  deathless  stars  shall  rise, 

By  whose  light  my  soul  will  gladly 
Wing  her  passage  to  the  skies. 


ARCADIA. 

WE  heard  it  first  on  an  April  morn, 

If  rung  by  fairies  I  cannot  tell, 
But  earth  was  smiling  o'er  flowers  new-born, 

And  birds  home  coming  to  wood  and  dell 
With  jubilant  music  saluted  the  dawn, 

When  far  in  the  distance  we  heard  a  sweet 

bell,  — 

A  flute-like  echo,  a  dulcet  strain, 
That  pierced  our  hearts  with  a  tender  pain,  — 
The  bell-call  of  Arcadia. 

"  Where  can  we  find  it  ?  "  we  asked  the  wise 
Who  musing  sat  in  the  willow  shade. 

They,  looking  on  us  with  wistful  eyes, 
Answer  vague  to  our  question  made : 

"Nor  east  nor  west  that  fair  land  lies, — 
A  seal  of  magic  is  on  it  laid ; 

But  love  and  longing  the  spell  unbind, 

And  he  who  follows  at  last  may  find 
The  hidden  land,  Arcadia. 

89 


90  LYRICS. 

"Down  evergreen  mountains  in  sparkling  sheen 

A  hundred  rivulets  seek  the  sea; 
Flocks,  snow-white,  feed  in  the  pastures  green, 

And  under  the  boughs  of  the  dark  fir-tree 
To  shepherd  minstrels  of  joyous  mien 

The  wood-god  Pan  pipes  cheerily. 
Always  summer  days,  blithe  and  long. 
Always  melody,  bloom,  and  song, 
In  the  fair  land  of  Arcadia." 

We  could  not  linger.     With  hearts  that  beat 
Wild  with  lono-ino;  and  fond  desire, 

o       o 

We  followed  the  call  of  the  bell  so  sweet. 
"  Soon,"  we  said,  "  will  that  sylvan  lyre 
With  witching  welcome  our  senses  Greet. 

C.7  ™ 

Ere  sunset  brightens  yon  purple  spire 
We  shall  rest  among  roses  our  weary  feet." 

Was  it  fancy  ?     The  dear  home  violets'  eyes 
Seemed  brimming  with  tears  of  sad  surprise  — 
But  away  to  rare  Arcadia ! 

Many  a  morning's  ruddy  tide 

Flooded  the  midnight's  desolate  bar, 

Many  a  sunset  splendor  died,  - 

Yet  Hope  rekindled  the  evening  star, 

And  still  o'er  desert  or  mountain  side 
We  heard  the  silvery  chime  afar, 


AECADIA.  91 

Calling  "  Hither,  O  pilgrim  feet, 
Here  your  rest  shall  be  full  and  sweet 
In  green  groves  of  Arcadia." 

At  times  the  kiss  of  a  sudden  breeze 
With  tropic  odors  our  senses  stirred, 

Breath  of  scarlet  pomegranite  trees 
And  lotus  blossoms.     We  surely  heard 

The  low,  soft  rhythm  of  summer  seas, 
The  brooding  note  of  the  Halcyon  bird. 

Onward  we  pressed  :  so  near,  at  last, 

One  more  brief  shadow  of  woodland  past, 
And  then  —  our  blest  Arcadia  ! 

But  after  the  woodland,  the  black  ravine, 
And  further,  a  long,  lone  mountain  height, 

There,  as  we  clambered  with  saddened  mien, 
In  the  fading  Autumn's  sunset  light  — 

For    the    leaves    were    russet    that    once    were 

green  — 
Pilgrims  numberless  met  our  sight, 

Snow-white  locks  on  the  evening  wind, 

O 

And  mournfully,  steadfastly  looking  behind 
They  sighed,  "  Farewell,  Arcadia  !  ' 


We  too  looked  back,  and  a  wonderful 

? 

Lay  on  the  landscape  our  feet  had  passed  ; 


92  LYRICS. 

Clearer  the  morning  and  softer  than  night, 
O'er  all  the  road  was  the  glamor  cast. 

And  there,  revealed  to  our  yearning  sight, 
The  beautiful  valley  lay  at  last. 

Far  back  where  the  April  violets  grew, 

There  smiled,  amid  crystals  of  deathless  dew, 
Our  first  and  last  Arcadia  ! 


A  BUDDHIST  VISION. 
I. 

Ix  his  night-watch  beneath  the  Banian  tree 
Buddha,  the  blessed,  saw  the  years  unsealed, 
And  change  on  change  of  wondrous  destiny 
In  his  own  life  revealed  ; 

Saw  the  long  path  of  darkness  and  of  pain, 

From  tiger  crouching  in  his  jungle  lair, 
To   priest   grown   wan    with   fasting   and   with 
prayer 

Nirvana's  peace  to  gain.. 

If  for  one  hour  his  vision  we  might  share, 

O  ' 

His  moonlight  faith  accepting,  stand  aside 
From  the  strong  sunshine  of  to-day,  and  dare 
Down  the  dark  past  to  glide, 

By  what  fantastic  labyrinths  of  space, 

Through  what  ripe  moments  of  unconscious 

doom, 

What  endless  links  of  motion,  music,  bloom, 
Our  lineage  we  niiqlit  trace! 

O  O 

93 


94  LYEICS. 

II. 

My  eyes  were  opened.    Down  the  years  unknown, 
In  a  dim  forest  I  beheld  afar 
A  fragile  plant  amid  whose  leaves  had  grown 
One  blossom,  like  a  star. 

Nurtured  in  gloom,  in  speechless  solitude 

It  watched  the  hour  which  brought  a  sunbeam 

near, 

Thus  opening,  fading,  many  a  hopeless  vear, 
Till  strange  unrest  imbued 

Its  feeble  pulse.     Unheard  of  all  its  kind 

Its  first,  last  sigh  was  breathed.     And  lo !  no 

more 

A  blossom,  but  a  lightly  wandering  wind 
It  roamed  the  woodland  o'er  ! 

Out  where  the  sunshine  gilded  all  the  land 

It   tossed   the   long   plumes    of   the    ripening 

wheat, 
Or  seaward  ran,  the  joyous  waves  to  meet, 

And  played  along  the  strand, 

How  long  I  know  not.      Fn  a  greenwood  nook 

o  c? 

It  found  a  rivulet  dancing  in  the  sun, 


A   BUDDHIST  VISION. 

It  lingered,  dallied,  whispered  with  the  brook 
Till  wave  and  wind  were  one. 

O  then  what  joy  in  melody  new-born  ! 
What  dimpled,  prattling  infancy  of  song, 
In  summer  twilights  beautiful  and  long, 
And  in  the  rosy  dawn  ! 


Until  green  branches  waving  free  and  strong 
Mingled  above  the  stream  in  choral  high  ; 
The  brook  was  hushed,  —  it  heard  a  nobler  song 
And  nearer  to  the  sky. 

So  when  the  summer  burned  along  the  lea, 
And  fiery  drought  crept  down  the  withered  glen, 
The  spirit  of  the  brook  went  forth  again 
Into  a  laurel  tree. 

Now  was  it  conscious  of  a  larger  life, 

Wide  outlook,  vigorous  growth,  the  wrelcome 

change 

Of  freshening  foliage.     Every  pulse  was  rife 
With  strivins  new  and  strane. 


Exultant  in  its  beauty,  ardent  beams 

Swelled  the  rich  buds  and  burst  the  creamy 
flowers, 


96  LYRICS. 

Yet  as  it  rocked  the  birds  in  tuneful  hours 
It  heard,  as  if  in  dreams, 

A  note  its  solemn  measure  had  not  learned, 

A  tone  all  other  melodies  above 
Of  wind,  or  wave  or  boughs  that  skyward  turned, — 
It  wras  the  note  of  love  ! 

Stricken  at  last  the  tree  gave  forth  its  breath,  — 

Far  in  a  tropic  nest  a  bird! ing  stirred. 
O  nightingale  !  no  passing  wing  of  death 
Thy  waking  rapture  heard. 

Cradled  in  roses,  upon  roses  fed, 

Sweeter,  diviner  grew  thy  honeyed  strain, 
The  tender,  haunting,  passionate  refrain 
Of  many  summers  fled. 

Unto  a  state  of  royalty  was  risen 

The  spirit  which  forever  had  desired 
A  height  untried,  and  like  a  soul  in  prison 
Still  panted  and  aspired. 

There  came  a  sun-winged  seraph.     Stooping  low 
He  whispered,  "  Singer,  yet  another  change 
Must  come.  Thy  song,  to  reach  sublimest  range, 
Must  human  sorrow  know." 


A  BUDDHIST  VISION.  97 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass  one  starry  dawn 
The  nightingale  would  never  waken  more ; 
But  in  the  northland  by  a  stormy  shore 
A  poet-child  was  born,  — 

With  many  gifts  and  riches  for  his  dower, 
The  deep  desire  for  beauty  and  for  light 
Which  rent  the  pale  soul  of  the  forest  flower, 
And  the  intense  delight 

In  freedom  which  the  roving  wind  had  known,  — 
Such  rapture  as   had  thrilled   the  brook,  the 

tree, 

With  love  beyond  the  bulbul's  minstrelsy, 
And  sorrow's  mightier  tone. 


in. 

Return,  O  Vision  !     Shed  one  other  ray 

If  from  Nirvana  or  the  holier  Heaven  ! 
The  years  fall  fast,  —  the  Poet  must  away  : 
What  new  song  shall  be  given  ? 

The  veil  is  dropt.     Gautama's  blissful  shade 

Is  vanished  and  the  brief  illusion  fled. 
I  only  know  that  every  life  must  fade, 
And  silent  are  the  dead. 


98  LYRICS. 

But  if  from  many  and  from  fair  estates 
Comes  the  true  accent  to  the  Poet's  lips, 
Rich  heritage  beyond  this  last  eclipse 
The  high-born  Singer  waits. 


GREENWOOD   GREETINGS. 

THE  morning  of  the  year 

Flushes  again  these  northern  glades.     Awake, 
O  slumbering  branches  !     Once  again  the  cheer 
And  comradeship  of  other  summers  take 
On  your  mute  faces.     Answer  me  again, 
And  tell  your  winter's  dream  of  ecstasy  or  pain. 

Then  first  the  maples  stirred, 
Their  drooping  blossoms  trembling  with  delight, 
And  said  —  "  The  nio-ht  is  over !  we  have  heard 

O 

The  brook  rejoicing  in  the  breaking  light  — 

The  rapture  of  the  rain 
Over  the  lost  arbutus,  found  again; 
The  sod  grows  velvet  green  beneath  our  feet ; 
Homeward    the    robins   fly,    and    life    again   is 
sweet ! ' 

The  pine  tree  flung 

Its  tassels  to  the  wind  and  proudly  sung,  — 
"I  dreamed  of  lands  where  over  leagues  of  ice 

O 

The  skaters  joyous  flew.     Of  northern  lights 

99 


100  LYRICS. 

Flaming  along  the  skies  in  strange  device, 
Of  reindeer  speeding  through  the  glimmering 

nights. 
The  forest  trembled  with  old  Odin's  signs 

O 

Of   stormy  pain,    but   all    undaunted    sung   the 
pines  !  ': 

The  elm  returned  — 

"  Of  summer  was  my  dream   the  long  night 
through. 

O      * 

Of  sunset-fires  where  myriad  roses  burned, 
Giving  their  beauty  back  in  morning  dew. 
Of  interlacing  boughs 

O  O 

Festooned  in  arches  meet  for  lover's  vows, 
And  of  the  golden  robin's  nest  that  clung 
Near  to  my  heart,  which  throbbed  whene'er  the 
birdlins  sun." 


. 

O 


Rough-hooded  fir, 

O  ' 

Why  dost  thou  beckon  to  the  juniper 
With  signs  of  joy  ?  Slow  waved  her  rustling  fan 
As  she  replied:  "I  heard  in  my  long  dream 
The  mellow  pipe,  far  blown,  of  jocund  Pan 
Invisible  by  wood  and  valley  stream. 
He  is  not  dead,  the  god  of  dell  and  grove, 
But    with    him,    joyous    still,    the    nymphs    and 
satyrs  rove  !  ' 


GREENWOOD  GREETINGS.  101 

The  poplar  trees 
Their    odorous    buds    all    quivering    in    the 

breeze, 
Sighed  —  "Heavy    was    our    sleep    and    dark 

with  gloom 

The  dreaded  vision  of  the  night.     Of  yore 
The  fated  poplar  grew  unto  its  doom 
And  powerless  fell.   Shaped  from  its  shuddering 

wood 

The  Cross  was  fashioned.     Now  and  evermore 
That  woe  returns.     The  stain  of  holy  blood 

Our  slumber  haunts  alway, 

And    every    waking    leaf    still    trembles    with 
dismay." 

The  willow's  plume 
Swept   the   warm   sod    with   downy  tufts  of 

bloom. 

"  O  willow  !  thou  dost  ever  earthward  gaze 
And  sighs   are   all  thy  language."     And  the 

tree 

Whispered  —  "I  feel  again  the  flowery  days 
Of  a  new  year,  but  spring  the  fair,  the  free, 
Cannot  bring  back  the  beautiful  to  me. 
There  is  sound  of  tear-drops  in  the  rain, 
Of    mourning   in   the   air.     The    lost   come    not 


again." 


,   ' 


102  LYXICS. 

Ah !  then  the  cedars  bent 
Their   glossy    crowns    and    spake    with   deep 

content : 
"  We  have  not  slept  nor  dreamed  the  livelong 

night ! 
In  our  dark  mantles  wrapped  we  watched 

for  lii>'ht. 

O 

We  are  the  faithful.     In  our  spicy  boughs 
The  breath  of  Lebanon  forever  flows. 
Summer  or  winter,  life  or  death  may  be, 
Hope  gathers  garlands  green  from  off  the  cedar 
tree  1  " 

O  kindred  of  the  wood, 

Lift  up  your  heads  !  for  now  the  sunrise  beams 
Scatter  the  mist  of  darkness  and  of  dreams  : 
The  world  is  made  anew  and  it  is  good ! 
A  thousand  voices  herald  summer's  day,  — 
Let  us  drink   deep  from   life's  fresh  fountains 
while  we  may. 


THE   FIRST  ROBIN. 

WELCOME  again,  from  the  land  of  the  summer, 

Bird  in  the  maple  with  jubilant  song ! 
Nodding  and  singing  thy  rapturous  greeting, 
Where   hast   thou    stayed   from   our    garden 

so  long  ? 

Often  the  little  ones  looked  from  the  window, 
When    the    soft    snowflakes    fell    fleecy    and 

dumb, 
Saying,    "See,    mother!    the    white    bees    are 

swarming ; 
When  will  they  go  and  the  red  robins  come  ? ': 

Rocked  on  the  bough  of  the  silver-leafed  maple, 
Hast  thou  one  sigh  for  the  orange  and  palm  ? 
Could  the  magnolia's  sweet-scented  blossoms 

O 

Waft  o'er  thy  sleep  a  more  exquisite  balm  ? 
Bird  of  the  North !  thou  hast  winged  thy  way 
homeward, 

Led  by  a  love  that  was  constant  and  strong, 
On  the  same  bou^h  that  in  other  davs  rocked 

V 

thee, 

Build  a  new  nest,  but,  oh  !  sing  the  old  song 

103 


104  LYRICS. 

Herald  art  thou  of  the  pageant  approaching, 

The  floral  procession  of  Summer  our  queen ! 
Let  the  winds  barken,  and  hasten  the  sunbeams 

To  spread  for  her  chariot  a  carpet  of  green. 
Bid  the  trees  hang  out  their  banners  of  welcome, 

Red  and  white  banners  of  beautiful  bloom  ; 
Sing,  happy  bird,  till  thy  comrades  advancing 

Shall   rout   the   last    spectre    of   winter    and 
gloom. 


VIOLETS. 

I  KNOW  a  spot  where  woods  are  green, 

And  all  the  dim,  delicious  June 
A  brook  flows  fast  the  boughs  between 

And  trills  an  eager,  joyous  tune. 

In  clear  unbroken  melody 

The  brook  sings  and  the  birds  reply : 
"  The  violets  —  the  violets  !  " 

Upon  the  water's  velvet  edge 

The  purple  blossoms  breathe  delight, 

Close  nestled  to  the  grassy  sedge 
As  sweet  as  dawn,  as  dark  as  nis;ht. 

'  O 

O  brook  and  branches,  far  away, 
My  heart  keeps  time  with  you  to-day ! 
"  The  violets  —  the  violets  !  " 

I  sometimes  dream  that  when  at  last 
My  life  is  done  with  fading  things, 
Again  will  blossom  forth  the  past 
To  which  my  memory  fondest  clings. 
That  some  fair  star  has  kept  for  me, 
Fresh  blooming  still  by  brook  and  tree, 
"  The  violets  —  the  violets  !  " 

105 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE   VALLEY. 

IN  elder  days,  beside  the  tawny  Nile 

Where  royally  embalmed  the  Pharaohs  slept, 

Year  after  year  with  pomp  of  flags  and  flowers 
A  beautiful  and  sacred  feast  was  kept. 

Feast  of  the  valley  :   when  the  living  bore 
Tribute  of  fruits  and  incense  to  the  dead, 

Marching  in  gay  procession,  richly  robed, 

By  the  proud  voice  of  drum  and  trumpet  led. 

And  nothing  doubted  they  that  souls  beloved, 

Sailing  the  blue  skies  in  Osiris'  car, 
Perceived  in  slumberous  calm  the  fragrant  <nfts, 

O  O 

And  heard  the  music,  as  in  dreams,  afar. 

Thus  in  the  garb  of  triumph  we  would  keep 
Memorial    Day,    the    New    World's    feast  of 

flowers ; 

What  shadow  can  the  silent  valley  hold, 
Since  glorified  by  such  a  faith  as  ours ! 

106 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE   VALLEY.  107 

With  banners  beautiful  and  sonms  that  tell 

O 

The  pride   and  promise  of  sweet  Freedom's 

home, 

Where  sleep  the  sons  who  loved  her  unto  death, 
With   garlands    and    with    trophies   we    will 

come. 

Fair  was  the  grave  beneath  the  Orient  palms, 
While  Heaven  was  dumb  and  yet  unsealed  the 
tomb, 

For  us  the  heavy  stone  is  rolled  away,  — 
The  valley  shows  a  light  beyond  the  gloom. 

And  from  their  white  encampments  on  the  hills 
Beyond  our  vision,  the  beloved  reply  — 

"  Here  Freedom  smiles  in  a  diviner  air, 

And,  oh,  'tis  sweet  for  native  land  to  die  !  " 


PEARLS  OF  PRICE. 

LIFE,  I  fain  would  ask  of  thee 
Gifts  that  shall  abide  with  me ! 
When  the  tinsel  and  the  dross 
Fall  away  in  utter  loss  — 
When  my  spirit  trembling  stands 
Just  within  the  border  lands, 
All  that  I  have  called  my  own 
Fading  in  that  light  unknown, 
Let  me  not  with  desolate  heart 
See  familiar  joys  depart. 

Thou  art  rich,  O  Life,  and  I 
For  thy  choicest  guerdon  sigh. 
Give  me  things  that  cannot  die! 

Now  while  days  are  long  and  sweet 
In  midsummer,  —  while  my  feet 
Falter  not  amid  the  bloom, 
And  no  warning  sisms  of  doom 

CJ  d? 

In  the  earth  or  sky  foretell 
Swift  departure,  long  farewell, 
Let  me  turn  with  strength  divine 
From  this  bright,  bewildering  wine, 

108 


PEARLS   OF  PRICE.  100 

Life's  illusion,  —  and  perceive 

What  at  nightfall  I  must  leave. 

Though  it  be  through  dearth  and  dole 
I  would  follow  to  the  goal 
Treasure  deathless  as  the  soul. 


Wide  and  loving  brotherhood 

With  the  gifted  and  the  good, 

Fellowship  and  joy  intense 

In  glad  nature's  opulence; 

Heart  of  calm  and  steadfast  cheer, 

Friendship  deepening  year  by  year, 

Love  that  does  not  fear  to  wait 

For  its  answer  at  Heaven's  gate, 

Faith,  a  beacon  full  in  sight, 

Cloud  by  day  and  flame  by  night, — 
These  are  riches,  treasure,  power, 
Which  outlive  the  fatal  hour  ; 
Buds  of  time  which  Heaven  will  flower. 

Surely  down  the  sunset  road 
Comes  the  messenger  of  God, 
Withering  in  his  glance  of  fire 
Every  fleeting,  vain  desire. 
At  his  touch  will  melt  away 
Fairest  idols  made  of  clay, 


110  LYRICS. 

* 

And  in  hopeless  dust  fall  down 
Robe  and  wreath  and  rosy  crown. 
Life,  I  will  not  let  thee  go 
Till  thy  utmost  boon  I  know ! 

Let  my  soul's  one  triumph  be, 
Ere  we  part,  to  win  from  thee 
Jewels  for  eternity ! 


THE   SIGNAL. 

FEOM  yonder  dormer  window 

For  many  a  year  has  shone 
A  lamp  whose  nightly  message 

Was  borne  to  me  alone ; 
For  there  a  saintly  lady 

Watched  for  my  answering  light, 
And  to  my  little  ones  and  me 

Wafted  her  sweet  "  Good-night." 

How  often  when  the  evening 

^j 

Shut  down  on  days  of  care, 
When  heart  and  brain  were  heavy 

With  burdens  hard  to  bear, 
That  beam  of  tranquil  brightness 

Her  holier  calm  expressed, 
And  to  my  troubled  spirit  spoke 

Of  patience  and  of  rest. 

To-night  I  sit  in  sadness 
To  sing  my  cradle  hymn, 

The  window  is  all  darkened, 
The  house  is  bleak  and  dim ; 

111 


112  LYRICS. 

Across  the  fields  of  moonlight 
No  glittering  ray  is  shed, 

The  lamp  is  out,  the  chamber  dark, 
The  saintly  lady  dead. 

But  just  above  the  gable 

With  splendid  beam  afar, 
And  with  unwonted  beauty 

Hangs  low  the  evening  star ! 
Is  that  to  be  my  signal 

As  years  again  go  by  ? 
Am  I  to  lift  my  eyes  and  read 

Love's  language  in  the  sky  ? 

I  take  the  happy  omen, 
The  lovelio-ht  from  afar; 

^  ' 

The  watcher  is  exalted, 
The  lamp  is  now  a  star! 

Still  shall  I  read  the  message 
In  golden  letters  clear  — 

Still  to  my  little  ones  and  me 
The  signal  is  "  good  cheer  ! r 


A    DREAMLAND    CITY. 

SOMETIMES  the  guarded  gates 
Of  the  unseen  on  outward  hinges  roll, 

O  7 

And  in  deep  dreams  of  night  the  troubled 

soul 
In  bright,  brief  vision  sees  the  glory  of  its  goal. 

* 

Some  angel,  watchful,  kind, 
Stoops  for  the  moment  from  his  kindred  band, 
Reaches,  through  veil  of  sleep,  a  pitying  hand, 
And  leads  the  Dreamer  forth  into  a  fairer  land. 

Such  boon  to  me  was  given, 
Thus  to  my  sorrow  came  a  sweet  release ; 
Sleep's  magic  touches  gave  to  pain  surcease; 
And  forth  my  spirit   passed  into  transcendent 
peace. 

A  city  beautiful 

Shone  on  my  vision.     Palaces  of  white 
And  gleaming  marble,  in  a  noonday  light 
Glittered  along  wide   streets  with  pearly  pave- 
ments bright. 

113 


114  LYRICS. 

Amaranth  and  asphodel 
Above    each   pillared  door   their    blossoms 

hung ; 

From  every  mansion  mystic  music  rung, 
For  Poesie  was  here  the  only  voice  and  tongue. 

High  in  the  city's  midst 
Arose  a  Temple,  as  the  sunset  bright; 
Of     flame-like     splendor,    dazzling    to    the 

sight,  — 
Arch,  column,  altar  glowed  with  an  interior  light. 

"  This  is  the  shrine  of  song," 
A  voice  beside  me  uttered.     "  This  her  home, 
Her   chosen    dwelling.     Hither    none    may 

come 

But  her  beloved,  her  own.     Fame's  worshippers 
are  dumb 

"  Forth  from  her  temple  flows 
Perpetual  inspiration.     Glorious  themes 
Break  on  the  vision  in  ecstatic  srleams. 

\^ 

Embodied    here   the    bard    beholds   his    rarest 
dreams. 

"  Hither  the  minstrels  throng  — 

O 

The  masters  wearing  laurels  centuries  old, 


A   DREAMLAND  CITY.  115 

Bards  who  the  harp-strings  smote  with  fingers 

bold, 

And  they  whose  softer  lays  with  faltering  lips 
were  told. 

"Nor  they  alone  whose  brows 
On  earth  the  victor's  sparkling  wreath  have 

worn, 
These,  too  whom  Fate  of  every  bliss  hath 

shorn, 

Save  of  the  matchless  boon  —  that  they  were 
singers  born." 

Even  as  he  spoke  there  rolled 
From  out  that  inner  shrine  a  tide  of  song. 
Each  outer  voice  the  anthem  bore  along ; 
The  angel  at  my  side  responded  full  and  strong. 

"  This  is,  indeed,  my  home ! ' 
I  cried.     "  Here  every  grief  I  may  forget ; 
Here  even  for  me  are  peace  and  rapture  met." 
My  guide,  in  tender  voice  replied,  "  Not  yet." 

The  dream  was  at  an  end. 
Yet  in  its  light  I  walked  through  many  days, 
Seeing  no  darkness  in  them,  for  my  gaze 
Illumined  once,  still  burned  with  the  celestial  rays. 


116  LYRICS. 

Now  singing  as  I  go, 
Little  I  heed  although  the  path  is  long ; 
Light  from    above   hath    made   my    spirit 

strong,  — 
It  is  enough  to  be  the  humblest  child  of  Song. 

And  I  will  be  content 

To  love  her  for  herself  ;  with  homage  sweet 
To  sing  unheard,  unanswered  at  her  feet, 
Till  in  some  other  life  I  make  my  song  complete. 


RECOMPENSE. 

GRIEVE  not,  beloved,  that  in  such  narrow  space 
Your  hopes  must  still  their  sparkling  plumage 

hide, 

Brooding  unseen  :  while  others  sing  and  soar, 
That  you  alone  go  in  and  out  no  more. 
Write  on  the  threshold  of  this  prison  place  — 
Eternity  is  wide! 

Sigli  not  that  years  unanswering  pass  away, 
And  life  seems  all  a  mockery  and  a  wrong : 
The  morning  and  the  evening  swiftly  blend  ; 
Soon  as  the  sorrow  and  the  silence  end, 
A  thousand  years  shall  be  as  yesterday  — 
Eternity  is  long! 


SONG  PHANTOMS. 

THEY  are  flitting  all  about  us, 
Fairy  forms  and  faces  fair, 
Glancing  wings  of  white  and  silver, 
Spirits  not  of  earth  nor  air. 
Phantoms  of  the  songs  unsung, 
Of  unuttered  minstrelsy, 
In  the  noon  and  in  the  night 
Still  they  call  to  thee  and  me, 

"Follow!  follow! 
"  And  the  song  thine  own  shall  be  !  " 

In  the  rosy  morning  sunlight 

Now  behold  !  thy  float  and  gleam, 
Yet  shalt  thou  perceive  them  nearer 
In  the  twilight's  dusk  and  dream. 
Softer  than  all  spoken  words 
Then  their  elfin  voices  ring, 
Sweeter  than  all  chanted  hymns 
As  they  vanish,  still  they  sing  — 

"Follow!  follow! 
Catch  the  song  upon  the  wing  !'' 

118 


SONG  PHANTOMS.  119 

Not  a  brooklet  down  the  valley 

All  unhaunted  rambles  on, 
With  its  limpid  wave  are  blended 

Sacred  drops  from  Helicon. 

And  the  mountains  as  they  burn 

In  the  sunset's  fiery  gold, 

Shine  with  the  mysterious  light 

That  Parnassus  wore  of  old. 
"Follow!  follow! 
And  the  Muses'  shrine  behold." 

Happy  nymph  and  hapless  Echo 

Haunt  the  wood  with  ceaseless  tone, 

Other  flowers  than  famed  Narcissus 
Veil  a  beauty  not  their  own. 
Sighing  from  the  forest  bough 
Smiling  o'er  the  rainbow  bar, 
Beckoning  from  the  white  sea-foam 
Whispering  from  the  vesper  star  — 
"  Follow  !  follow  ! 

Bring  the  spoils  of  song  from  far  ! '" 

Oft  o'ercome  by  their  enchantment 

We  arise  and  hasten  on, — 
Follow  far  through  vale  and  highland 

Till  the  witching  sprite  is  won. 

Ah  !  at  touch  of  mortal  hand 


120  LYRICS. 

See  the  rainbow  plumage  fade  ! 
That  we  sought  with  rapture  sweet 
Fails  us  when  our  quest  is  stayed. ' 

Far  we  follow, 
And  we  only  reach  the  shade. 

Yet  with  tireless,  glad  devotion 

We  go  on  with  eager  feet, 
For  the  path  is  ever  starward, 
And  the  wayside  bloom  is  sweet. 
Though  we  gain  but  broken  not 
Of  the  hidden  minstrelsy, 
Yet  we  breathe  diviner  air, 
Heavenly  heights  beyond  we  see. 

We  will  follow ! 
Ours  at  last  the  song  shall  be ! 


UP  THE  RIVER. 

THE  barge  at  sunset  left  the  shore 

With  clanging  band  and  banner  flying, 
Far  out  at  sea  we  gazed  once  more, 

The  dim,  blue  line  of  sky  descrying; 
Then  as  we  floated  up  the  bay, 
We  idly  watched  the  sparkling  ray 
Which  on  the  brightening  waters  lay, — 
A  golden  sky,  a  golden  river. 

How  eerie-like  the  summer  night 

Descends  to  greet  the  kindred  deep  ! 

Her  garments  shed  a  magic  light 

As  o'er  the  rippling  wave  they  sweep. 

The  golden  hour  of  sunset  past, 

The  clouds  of  amber  fading  fast, 

o  / 

Grown  softer,  darker,  see  at  last 
A  violet  sky,  a  violet  river  ! 

As  mists  of  evening  gather  dark, 

Diana  shows  her  silver  bow, 
And  now  each  swift  or  anchored  bark 

Is  mirrored  iu  the  deep  below. 

121 


122  LYRICS. 

We  know  not  in  their  ghostly  mien 
Those  dim,  white  sails  that  skyward  lean; 
Real  and  unreal  they  hang  between 

A  shadowy  sky  and  shadowy  river. 

The  wind  is  down,  the  tide  runs  low, 
The  barge  creeps  up  the  current  slowly, 

The  banks  more  steep  and  craggy  grow, 
Or  darken  into  woodlands  lowly; 

And  surely  yonder  peerless  star 

Shows  where  the  gates  of  dreamland  are  ! 

The  pathway  brightens  near  and  far 

In  sparkling  sky  and  sparkling  river. 

And  now  what  lights  are  those  that  gleam 

From  yonder  heights  with  beckoning  ray? 
Has  Norembega's  wizard  beam 

Shone  forth  to  mock  our  homeward  wr.y  ? 
O  no  !  the  lights  burn  true  and  fair, 
The  "  welcome  home  "  awaits  us  there  — 
Play  out,  gay  band,  your  sweetest  air ! 
Good  night  to  starry  sky  and  river ! 


HAIL   AND   FAREWELL, 
i. 

BLOOM,  rosy  hours,  from   amber   dawn   unfold- 
ing 

To    noon's    imperial    splendor,   to    twilight's 
violet  gloom, 

All  the  lost  sweetness  of  forgotten  summers 

O 

Lives  once  again  in  your  intense  perfume. 


Sing,    joyous     birds !     to     dreaming    sky    and 

river, 
Unto   the   waiting   winds    a    soul    melodious 

give ; 
Till  every  heart  and  voice  awakes  inspired  to 

echo 

Your  highest   note   of   rapture  —  "how  sweet 
it  is  to  live ! ' 

n. 

Fade,  summer   day!    unbind  thy   glowing   gar- 
land, 

Look  from  the  gate    of   sunset  and   smile  on 
earth  once  more ; 

123 


124  LYRICS. 

Fade  and  farewell ;  so  tranquil  be  thy  slumber, 
The  angel  stars  shall  hasten  forth  thy  beauty 
to  adore. 

Ebb,  rapid  tide !  the  dying  day  reflecting, 
Flow    fast,    ye    golden    billows,    your    ocean 
heaven  is  nio;h, 

O       * 

Melt   cloud   and   wave,    in   grander   deeps    dis- 
solving, 

And  tell  to  the  departing  soul  —  "  how  blest 
it  is  to  die !  " 


A  SEASIDE  PICTURE. 

A  BROAD,  bright  bay  whose  tossing  waves 
So  sparkle  in  the  sunlight's  glare, 
They  seem  the  stolen  gems  to  wear 

Of  all  the  nymphs  in  ocean's  caves  ; 

The  foreground  rich  in  woodland  shore 
Of  odorous  cedar,  moss  grown  pine, 
With  boughs  of  lighter  green  that  twine 

o  o  o 

And  bower  the  velvet  pathways  o'er. 

The  distance  an  enchanting  range 

Of  island  mountains,  height  on  height, 
Where  mists  of  morn  and  glooms  of  niojht 

O  O 

Have  wrought  a  coloring  rich  and  strange,  — 

A  vanishing  and  mystic  hue 

Of  blended  green  and  violet  dyes, 
And  over  all  such  sapphire  skies 

As  Titian's  pencil  never  knew. 

Such  is  the  picture  I  behold, 

And  still  in  every  changing  light 

125 


126  LTEICS. 

Some  hidden  beauty  steals  in  sight,- 
A  cloud,  a  shade,  a  glint  of  gold. 

You  ask  upon  what  gallery's  wall 
Is  this  midsummer  radiance  hung? 
Its  name  was  never  said  nor  suns; 

o  * 

A  cottage  window  frames  it  all ! 


ISIS. 

Low  at  her  feet  I  watch  and  dream, 
She  will  not  lift  her  veil ; 

I  dimly  see  a  brow  sublime 
And  features  grand  and  pale, 

And  feel  a  mighty  heart  replies 

To  all  my  rapture,  or  my  sighs. 

She  is  so  near  her  breathing  falls 

On  my  attentive  ear, 
She  is  so  far  the  twilight  stars 

O 

Shine  through  her  mantle  clear ; 
As  silent  as  the  grave  may  be, 
And  yet  the  soul  of  melody! 

The  lotus  trembling  on  her  brow 

Exhales  divine  perfume, 
The  mystic  splendor  of  her  smile 

Pervades  my  narrow  gloom. 
The  dearth  of  solitary  hours 
She  answers  with  a  thousand  flowers. 

127 


128  LYKICS. 

Oppressed  with  haunting,  hindering  cares 

My  heart  rebels  at  fate. 
She  stoops  to  me,  and  lo  !  I  share 

Her  own  imperial  state. 
I  glide  without  my  prison  bars 
And  walk  with  her  the  path  of  stars  ! 

Forever  sorrowful  in  death, 

Forever  glad  in  birth, 
Her  face  the  glory  of  the  skies, 

Her  steps  the  bloom  of  earth  — 
As  Nature's  self,  tho  fallen,  the  free, 
O  Isis,  I  interpret  thee ! 


LOTUS-EATING. 

THESE  perfect  days  were  never  meant 

For  toil  of  hand  or  brain, 
But  for  such  measureless  content 

As  heeds  no  loss  nor  gain  ; 
Close  held  to  Nature's  flowery  breast 
In  deep  midsummer  rest. 

Within  this  woodland  shade  I  feel 

The  life  of  wind  and  tree ; 
Soft  odors,  tremulous  boughs  reveal 

Untutored  ecstasy ; 
The  wild  bird's  drowsy  warble  seems 
My  own  voice  heard  in  dreams  ! 

And  yonder  azure  mountain  brow 

Against  the  opal  sky, 
The  river's  cool,  melodious  flow, 

The  pine-tree's  pensive  sigh, 
Each  utters  forth  mv  inmost  mood 

«/ 

Of  blissful  solitude. 

129 


130  LYRICS. 

That  ever  daring  deeds  were  done, 

Or  fiery  flags  unfurled, 
Is  like  a  tale  of  glory  won 

In  some  primeval  world, 
Where  under  skies  of  angry  hue 
Not  yet  the  lotus  grew ! 

O  world,  to-day  in  vain  you  hold 
The  glittering  branch  of  palm  ; 

The  lotus  hath  a  flower  of  gold, 
A  fruit  of  heavenly  balm, 

And  underneath  the  greenwood  tree 

Are  flower  and  fruit  for  me. 


A  SUNSET  AT  SEAL  POINT  COTTAGE. 

FROM  the  gray  rocks  that  walled  the  beach 

We  watched  the  sinking  sun, 
Till  as  the  last  cloud  curtain  rolled 
Across  his  drooping  crown  of  gold, 

We  said  "  The  day  is  done." 

The  gateway  of  the  West  was  closed, 

The  King  was  seen  no  more; 
And  in  the  pensive  even-glow 
We  strayed  with  tranquil  step  and  slow 

Along  the  grassy  shore. 

But  as  we  gazed,  the  Eastern  sky 

Was  lighted  up  anew : 
Long  bars  of  gleaming,  crystal  green 
Across  the  heavens  a  dazzling  sheen 

Of  sudden  splendor  threw. 

The  waves  along  the  wide-stretched  bay 
Awoke  as  if  from  sleep, 

131 


132  L  TRIGS. 

And  trembling  in  a  strange  delight, 

Repelled  the  coming  gloom  of  night 

And  drank  the  radiance  deep.* 

Then  purple  banners  richly  wrought 

With  many  a  golden  sign, 
Waved  glorious  o'er  the  heavenly  plain, 
And  all  the  billows  shone  a^ain 

O 

With  blazonry  divine. 

And  ever  as  a  brighter  hue 

Illumed  the  sky  and  flood, 
The  mountains  on  the  further  shore, 
A  darker,  dreamier  aspect  wore, 

And  with  us  watching  stood. 

Still  flushed  the  deepening  tints,  and  now 

A  lurid  lustre  came, 
And  as  with  sacrificial  fire 
The  orient  burned  with  splendors  dire, 

The  sea  with  tossing  flame ! 

And  once  again  a  wondrous  change  — 

For  over  all  the  skies 
Swift  fading  as  the  night  came  down, 
Were  leagues  of  roses,  brightly  blown, 

Of  pure,  celestial  dyes  ! 


SUNSET  AT  SEAL   POINT  COTTAGE.     133 

Fast  as  they  bloomed  in  heaven  they  she 

Their  petals  on  the  sea ! 
Till  in  a  rosy  wave  of  light 
They  vanished  from  our  raptured  sight, 

A  twilight  mystery. 

Homeward  beneath  the  whispering  trees 
We  walked  and  spoke  no  word ; 

For  we  had  seen  with  living  eyes, 

On  sunset  sea  and  sunset  skies, 
The  glory  of  the  Lord. 


BLACK-CAP  MOUNTAIN. 

BY  winding  paths,  through  woods  of  pine 
Deep  fringed  with  fragrant  fern  and  vine, 

Old  mosses  gray  beneath  our  feet, 
Wild,  forest  odors  strong  and  sweet, 

Brief  spaces  where  a  golden  rain 
Of  sunshine  sifts,  and  here  again 

Intenser  glooms  of  cliff  and  tree 
Whence  some  lone  bird  calls  plaintively, 

Thus  on  we  move,  as  in  a  dream, 
Nor  know  which  pleasure  is  supreme, 

Till  on  the  mountain's  opening  height 
All  senses  lose  themselves  in  sight ! 

Fair,  fair  the  picture  we  behold ! 
A  long,  dim  range  of  mountains  rolled 

134 


^LACK-CAP  MOUNTAIN  135 

Against  the  soft  October  sky, 

Seem  wrapped  in  contemplation  hign  . 

Far-reaching  forests  stretch  below, 
Resplendent  with  autumnal  glow 

Of  fiery  colors,  and  amid 

These  leagues  of  shade,  bright  waters  hid, 

Clear,  lucid  lakes  that  sparkling  rest 
Like  pearls  on  Nature's  drowsy  '  >reast. 

We  almost  hear  the  ripples  break 
On  Chimo's  lily-spangled  lake, 

While  far  off,  like  a  cloud  at  rest, 
We  know  Katahdin's  kingly  crest. 

The  giant  shadows  bending  low 
With  soft,  slow  footfall  come  and  go, 

Their  cool,  gray  garments  trailing  wide 
Along  each  billowy  mountain  side. 

No  hint  of  dust  or  toil  to  mar 
The  living  picture  shows  so  far ; 


136  LYRICS. 

Though  long  we  gaze,  the  vision  grows 
In  perfect  beauty  and  repose. 

O  when  from  some  sublimer  height 
These  earthly  scenes  are  full  in  sight, 

May  all  our  past  transfigured  lie 
So  far,  so  fair,  in  memory's  eye, 

The  beauty  and  the  bliss  alone 
Still  visible,  and  still  our  own. 


RIVERSIDE. 

IN  the  house  which  is  my  own, 
Though  no  living  eye  can  read 
The  invisible  title  deed 

Which  makes  it  mine  alone,  — 

In  the  room  where  my  heart  and  I 
In  still  communion  sit, 
Though  as  in  and  out  we  flit 

None  heed  us  passing  by,  — 

I  look  from  the  windows  three, 
And  pictures  manifold 
Of  the  new  and  of  the  old 

With  tireless  gaze  I  see. 

The  river,  near  and  deep, 

With  such  endless  music  flows 
That  into  my  thought  it  grows, 

And  I  hear  it  in  my  sleep. 

The  trees  that  o'er  it  bend, 
Though  rugged,  old,  and  gray, 

137 


138  LYRICS. 

I  have  talked  with  day  by  day, 
With  each  as  with  a  friend. 

And  yonder  far-off  range 
Of  hills  have  said  to  me 
In  each  change  of  destiny, 

"  Behold !  we  never  change." 

I  have  lifted  up  mine  eyes 
And  drank  their  deep  repose  ; 
I  have  shared  the  calm  which  flows 

Both  from  the  earth  and  skies. 

From  this  window  I  have  seen 
Sunsets  of  pomp  untold, 
Islands  of  rose  uprolled 

From  lakes  of  luminous  sheen. 

And  after  the  sunset,  far 
In  the  blue  halls  of  the  sky 
I  have  seen  the  young  moon  lie 

In  her  cradle  rocked  by  a  star. 

Again  and  oft  again 

From  yonder  window  wide, 
I  have  seen  her  like  a  bride 

Walk  heaven's  resplendent  plain- 


RIVERSIDE.  139 

Then  the  river  in  its  dream 

Was  changed  to  a  bridge  of  light, 
And  plume  and  banner  white 

Passed  over  its  brilliant  beam. 

All  this  may  strangers  see ; 

Yet  other  sights  remain, 

Which  shall  be  sought  in  vain, 
For  they  only  come  to  me. 

The  Indian's  evening  blaze 

Beneath  yon  broad  armed  pine, 
For  me  alone  shall  shine 

Out  of  remembered  days. 

The  true  friend's  signal  light 
From  the  home  across  the  way. 
Shall  burn  to  life's  last  day, 

Steadfast  and  strong  and  bright. 

And  if  I  look  no  more 

At  these  pictures  far  and  near, 

Within  are  scenes  as  dear, 
And  I  view  them  o'er  and  o'er. 

For  my  shadow-sister  stands 

In  the  door,  and  her  sweet,  dead  eyes 


140  LYRICS. 

Are  filled  with  a  sad  surprise 
As  she  touches  me  with  her  hands. 

"  Here  I  was  wont  to  come," 

She  sighs  ;  "  in  the  nights  so  still 
I  have  wandered  here  at  will : 

Oh,  is  not  this  thy  home  ?  " 

And  phantom  children  glide 
Across  the  fireside  glow; 
Their  pale  lips  murmur  low, 

"Here  we  were  born,  —  and  died." 

Nearer  the  voices  come, 
The  faces  grow  more  fair ; 

The  loved  and  lost  are  there, 
For  to  them  it  is  my  home. 

O  phantoms  pass  not  by  ! 
O  river  and  moaning  trees, 
My  answer  is  on  the  breeze, 

In  the  gloaming  "  Here  am  I ! " 

None  knows  as  I  have  known 
The  house  by  the  river  side, 
Nor  years  nor  space  divide 

The  spirit  from  its  own. 


TO   BEETHOVEN. 

I  HEAR  the  voice  of  thy  great,  pensive  soul, 

In  the  deep  shadow  of  this  summer  night, 
While  far  sea  waves  accordant  anthems  roll 

From  their  unfathomed  fountains  of  delight. 
I  hear  thy  voice  and  all  my  heart  is  still ; 

Hushed  in  the  presence  of  thy  gift  divine, 
I  dream  that  notes  from  God's  eternal  hill, 

From  harps  that  in  His  awful  presence  shine, 
Have  floated  from  on  hio-h 

O 

To  sing  with  Night  her  vesper  hymn  of  glory, 

But  while  I  listen,  lo !  it  passes  by 
And  leaves  me  musing  o'er  thy  mournful  story. 

Thou  wast  a  High  Priest  of  the  human  heart ! 

Holy  of  Holies  was  unveiled  to  thee, 
Which  thou  didst  enter  in  and  reverently 

Make  all  its  mysteries  of  thy  theme  a  part. 
All  longings  for  the  infinite  good  unknown, 

And  tears  for  broken  idols  left  behind, 
All  hopes  for  buds  of  beauty  yet  unblown, 

And  deeper  yearnings  still  in  shadow  shrined, 

141 


142  LYRICS. 

All  the  unspoken  pain 

Or  gladness  that  within  the  spirit  slumbers, 
All  that  the  Poet  strives  to  reach  in  vain, 
'T  was  thine  to  utter  forth  in  perfect  numbers. 

Master  of  all  the  spirit's  richest  deeps ! 

Of  human  nature's  grandest,  holiest  part, 
Blessed  wast  thou  in  uttering  what  the  heart 

From  all  the  world  in  sacred  stillness  keeps! 
O  blessed  is  the  soul  where  Genius  lives ! 

All  suffering  is  a  veiled  joy  to  him  ; 
To  his  rich  life  all  earthly  anguish  gives 

A  midnight  glory,  beautiful  and  dim. 
Out  from  that  midnight  calm 

O 

Thy  gifted  spirit's  voice  serenely  flowing, 

Breathes  o'er  the  world's  heart  like  a  golden 

psalm, 
Sweeter  and  sadder  still  forever  growing. 


FROM  ROME. 

HERE  lies  a  spray  of  maiden-hair, 
Tossed  over  ocean's  wintry  foam, 

A  fairy  fern,  so  light,  so  fair, 
It  grew,  for  me,  in  Rome  ! 

Day  after  day  with  sinking  heart 
I  saw  my  summer  treasures  go, 

The  last  bright  leaves  in  flame  depart, 
The  dead  earth  draped  in  snow. 

While  all  unseen,  unknowrn  to  me, 

Italia's  airs  of  balmy  blue 
This  leaflet  ripened  tenderly, 

And  hid  from  heedless  view. 

No  step  but  thine,  Beloved,  near 
The  fated  loveliness  might  stray, 

No  eyes  to  me  less  true  and  dear, 
Perceive  the  emerald  spray. 

And  yesterday,  while  fierce  and  fast 
Midwinter  raged  along  the  land, 

143 


144  LYRICS. 

Safe  borne  across  the  waves,  at  last 
It  lay  within  my  hand. 

O  fairy  token  !  I  can  see 

The  ruin  old  and  rich  in  fame, 

Where  late  my  friend  remembered  me, 
And  softly  spoke  my  name. 

The  sculptured  fountain's  snowy  fall, 
The  rustle  of  the  olive  leaves, 

The  stained  and  broken  marble,  —  all 
My  quickened  sight  perceives. 

And  more,  far  more,  O  friend  of  mine, 
This  dear  Italian  floweret  brings, 

It  is  a  promise  and  a  sign 
Even  of  immortal  things. 

Thus  all  unseen,  while  earthly  skies 
Grow  dark,  and  earthly  summers  flee, 

In  Heaven's  own  clime  some  glad  surprise 
Unfolds  for  thee  and  me. 


OBERAMMERGAU. 

THE  hamlet  is  in  shadow,  yet  the  light 

Clings  to  the  cross  on  yonder  summit  hoary, 
And  wide  along  the  hillside  seems  to  fall 

A  benediction  and  a  vesper  glory. 
Surely  some  radiant  Presence  hovering  there, 
With  shining  arms  uplifted,  calls  to  prayer ! 
And  unseen  choristers  glide  to  and  fro, 
Under  the  lindens,  when  the  sun  is  low. 

Flame,  mountain  cross,  in  the  departing  day ! 

Glow  in  the  sunrise  with  a  rosy  splendor ! 
An  altar-fire  to  which  the  hills  bow  down, 

And  the  hushed  valleys  meek  devotion  render. 
The  world  grows  cold  with  unbelief,  but  here 
The  Christ  of  Calvary  is  ever  near, 
And  beautiful  with  a  perpetual  youth 
Blooms  simple  Faith  around  immortal  Truth. 

145 


WHAT  CHEER? 

THE  daylight  is  dying ;  how  weary  and  wan 

It  sinks  to  its  sleep  on  the  sea's  purple  breast ! 
As  its  last  robe  of  beauty  is  folded  away, 
One  funeral  star  rises  out  of  the  west. 
What  cheer,  prophet  star,  that  with  sweet,  human 

eye 

Beamest  down  on  this  sad  world  so  pityingly  ? 
Thou  dost  read  all  the  mysteries  of  silence  and 

night, 

And  each  shadow  is   changed   in   thy  magical 
light. 

O  hear ! 

Did  an  angel  answer,  or  was  it  the  star 
That  wafted  a  voice  through  the  silence  afar? 
"  Good  cheer,  doubting  spirit !   the  red  rose  of 

dawn 

On  the  breast  of  the  desolate  midnight  is  born ; 
Good  cheer  ! " 

To  the  muffled  music  of  wind  and  of  rrJn 
The  dreary  November  is  passing  away. 

140 


WHAT  CHEEK?  147 

There  is  gloom  on  the  forest,  the  hill,  and  the 

plain, 

And  wild  ocean  foams  like  a  lion  at  bay. 
Weary  year,  dying  year,  let  it  haste  to  the  tomb, 
All  its  beauty  is  vanished,  its  strength  and  its 

bloom : 
Who  would  keep  the  pale  spectre  a  guest  at  his 

hearth  ? 
But  what  cheer  for  the  heart  as  it  fades  from  the 

earth  ? 

O  hear ! 
With  its  utterance  low  conies  that  voice  from  on 

high, 

Giving  back  to  my  sighing  its  blessed  reply  — 
"  Good  cheer  !  a  new  life,  a  new  year  shall  arise 
And  fill  with  its  glory  the  earth  and  the  skies ! 
Good  cheer ! r 

Answer  once  more,  O  thou  beautiful  star ! 

Chase  the  last  doubt  from  my  spirit  away, 
I  too,  like  the  year,  must  be  gathered  to  dust, 

My  youth  in  its  brightness  shall  fade  like  the 

day. 

Must  my  beautiful  visions  lie  down  with  me  ? 
Must  my  hopes  in  the  grave  bear  me  company? 
And  all  that  I  yearned  for  of  glory  and  bloom, 
Go  out,  like  a  lamp,  in  the  chill  of  the  tomb  ? 


148  LYRICS. 

O  hear ! 

Whether  angel  answered,  or  only  a  star, 
Of  joy  and  of  promise  the  tidings  are ! 
"  For  thy  feet  there  are  paths  which  no  mortal 

hath  trod, 
For  thy  hope  there  is  room  in  the  gardens  of  God  ! 

Good  cheer ! " 


A   VIGIL. 

ALL-SOULS'  DAY  !     Where  have  I  heard  or  read 
An  old-time  legend,  sad  and  sweet, 

That  to-night  return  the  remembered  dead 
And  walk  among  us  with  shadowy  feet? 

The  watcher  heedeth  no  sight  nor  sound, 

But  till  dawn  is  breaking  they  throng  around. 

Beloved !  thou  hast  been  gone  from  me 
A  year  and  a  day.     I  will  watch  to-night. 

My  door  shall  be  left  ajar  for  thee  ; 

I  will  brighten  my  fire  and  trim  my  light, 

And  musing  softly  on  other  days, 

Vigil  I  '11  keep  by  the  midnight  blaze. 

Are  there  untold  joys  in  those  realms  above, 
With  whose  meaning  mortals  may  vainly  cope  ? 

Blooms  there  a  sweeter  rose  than  love? 
Sings  there  a  happier  bird  than  hope? 

Was  the  waking  all  that  thy  dream  foretold 

Of  palm  and  palace  and  gates  of  gold  ? 

149 


150  LYRICS. 

Thou  didst  love  me  truly,  I  doubt  it  not. 

To  part  was  bitter  though  silent  pain ; 
In  that  far-off  realm  am  I  yet  forgot? 

Is  mourning  empty  and  memory  vain  ? 
Hark !  was  that  a  whisper,  so  soft,  so  near  ? 
It  is  but  the  sighing  wind  I  hear. 

How  fair  to  me  was  thy  fading  face, 

Touched  with  a  tender  and  tranquil  glow 

Heaven  had  lent  thee  its  promised  grace  — 
A  coming  rapture  was  on  thy  brow. 

Thy  smile  —  ah !  what  shines  so  within  the  door  ? 

Only  the  moonlight  just  touching  the  floor. 

We  were  happy,  love,  in  those  summer  days, 
The  days  of  sunshine  so  bright,  so  long, 

Pleasant  our  walks  by  the  flowery  ways, 
Sweet  the  communing  by  word  and  song. 

Listen  !  —  O  melody  come  once  again  ! 

All  silent.     I  must  have  been  dreaming,  then. 

I  hear  the  wash  of  the  troubled  tide 

As  it  breaks  on  the  cold,  unheeding  shore, 

The  elm  trees  grieve  by  the  river  side, 

And  the  murmuring  pines  reply  "no  more." 

Low  in  the  east  lianas  the  star  of  dawn. 

O 

Has  the  angel  visitant  corne  and  gone? 


A    VIGIL.  151 

Surely  one  moment  she  stooped  to  see 
The  light  on  my  hearth,  and  her  glance  was 
kind. 

Such  presence  veiled  from  our  sight  must  be; 
The  dead  are  not  faithless,  though  we  are  blind. 

In  the  light  of  the  same  undying  love 

We  watch  below,  and  they  watch  above. 


INDIAN   SUMMER. 

WHEN  the  hunter's  moon  is  waning, 

And  hangs  like  a  crimson  bow, 
And  the  frosty  fields  of  morning 

Are  white  with  a  phantom  snow ; 
Who  then  is  the  beautiful  spirit, 

That  wanders,  smiles,  and  grieves 
Along  the  desolate  hill-sides, 

And  over  the  drifted  leaves  ? 

She  has  strayed  from  the  far-off  dwelling 

Of  forgotten  Indian  braves, 
And  stolen  wistfully  earthward 

Over  the  path  of  graves ; 
She  has  left  the  cloudy  gateway 

Of  the  hunting-grounds  ajar, 
To  follow  the  trail  of  the  summer 

Toward  the  morning  star. 

There  's  a  rustle  of  soft,  slow  footsteps, 

The  toss  of  a  purple  plume, 
And  the  glimmer  of  golden  arrows 

Athwart  the  hazy  gloom. 

152 


INDIAN  SUMMER.  153 

'Tis  the  smoke  of  the  happy  wigwams 

That  reddens  our  wintry  sky, 
The  scent  of  unfading  forests 

That  is  dreamily  floating  by. 

O  shadow  sister  of  summer! 

Astray  from  the  world  of  dreams, 
Thou  wraith  of  the  bloom  departed, 

Thou  echo  of  springtide  streams, 
Thou  moonlight  and  starlight  vision 

Of  a  day  that  will  come  no  more, 
Would  that  our  love  might  win  thee 

To  dwell  on  this  stormy  shore ! 

But  the  roaming  Indian  goddess 

Stays  not  for  our  tender  sighs  ; 
She  has  heard  the  call  of  her  hunters 

Beyond  the  sunset  skies  ! 
By  her  beaming  arrows  stricken 

The  last  leaves  fluttering  fall, 
With  a  sigh  and  a  smile  she  has  vanished, 

And  darkness  is  over  all. 


BANGOR  CENTENNIAL  HYMN. 

1760-1869. 

GOD  of  our  days !     Thy  guiding  power 

Sustained  the  lonely  pioneer 
Who  first,  amid  the  forest  shades, 

His  evening  camp-fire  kindled  here. 
To  thee  a  welcome  sacrifice, 
Its  smoke  ascended  to  the  skies. 

God  of  the  years  !     As  summers  fled, 

Within  the  wild,  new  homes  were  reared, 

New  gardens  bloomed,  new  altars  flamed, 
And  songs  of  praise  the  Sabbaths  cheered, 

Until  the  fair,  young  city  stood 

Gem  of  the  eastern  solitude. 

God  of  the  centuries !     To-day 

A  hundred  years  their  tale  have  told, 

And  lingering  in  their  solemn  shade 
We  listen  to  the  days  of  old. 

To  us  how  vast  the  centuries  flight, 

^7         ' 


To  Thee  as  watches  in  the  night. 


154 


BANGOR  CENTENNIAL  HYMN.  155 

God  of  eternity  !     Thy  hand 
To  nobler  hills  has  beckoned  on 

The  fathers,  who  by  many  toils 
For  us  this  pleasant  dwelling  won. 

With  them  hereafter  may  we  raise 

Celestial  cities  to  Thy  praise  ! 


WINTER  OUR  GUEST. 

HE  is  come,  the  guest  unbidden, 
Guest  unwelcome,  sure  to  tarry. 
While  we  lingered  in  the  doorway, 
Saying  farewells  fond  and  tender 
To  the  dark-browed  Indian  summer, 
Sunburned,  beautiful  enchantress, 
While  we  watched  her  slow  departure 
With  regretful,  pensive  feeling, 
Lo !  a  chariot  rolling  swiftly 
Brought  a  traveller  to  our  door  ! 

Stern  old  Winter  !     See  he  enters 
As  if  sure  of  right  unquestioned, 
Heeding  not  our  gloomy  faces, 
Our  half-uttered  salutations  ; 
On  the  threshold  waits  a  moment, 
Doffs  and  shakes  his  cloak  of  ermino, 
And  the  air  is  filled  with  downy 
Flakes  that  fall  in  feathery  flight. 

Once  within,  with  steady  footsteps 
To  the  very  shrine  and  altar 

156 


WINTER  OUR  GUEST.  157 

Of  our  household  he  advances. 
Underneath  his  shaggy  forehead, 
Grim  and  stern  with  many  a  wrinkle, 
Gleam  his  eyes  so  cold  and  steely. 
Closer  dins:  the  little  children 

O 

To  our  side,  and  look  with  timid 
Glances  on  the  strange  intruder, 
Shrinking  from  his  icy  hand. 

Sometimes  when  the  windows  darken 
With  the  clouds  of  snow  descending, 
When  the  wind  escaped  from  prison, 
Holds  a  revel  with  the  snow-wraith, 
Then  the  frown  of  some  old  viking 
Darkens  on  his  rugged  features. 
And  as  nearer,  wilder,  louder 
Rolls  the  battle  wave  of  tempest, 
Fierce  and  fiercer  grows  his  visage, 
And  in  undertones  he  mutters 
Of  the  storms  of  all  the  ages, 
As  he  holds  unseen  communion 
With  the  spirits  of  the  air. 

But  he  is  not  always  sullen, 
Brooding  over  thoughts  revengeful ; 
When  the  early  sunlight  glitters 
On  the  snow-fields,  heavy  laden 


158  LYKICS. 

With  a  magic,  midnight  harvest  — 
When  the  trees  which  bare  and  ghastly 
Bent  before  the  evening  tempest, 
In  the  morning  stand  transfigured 
Into  lovely  flowering  almonds, 
Every  branch  a  mass  of  blossom 
White  as  down  and  pure  as  crystal, 
Then  the  aged  brow  is  softened, 
And  the  voice  prophetic  utte:'3 
Promise  of  a  fruitful  burden 
To  the  glistening  fields  and  boughs. 

And  a<xain  when  bells  are  chiming 

o  o 

In  the  moonlight  and  the  starlight 
Of  the  saintly  Christmas  even, 
When  the  lights  in  every  window 
Show  sweet  faces  bright  with  pleasure,  - 
All  the  brightness  is  reflected 
In  his  eves,  and  fearless  finders 

•/  O 

Twine  his  hoary  locks  with  holly. 
Then  beneath  the  lighted  fir-tree, 
Brilliant  with  a  fairy  fruitage, 
Sits  he  like  a  king,  dispensing 
Royal  gifts  with  royal  smiles. 

Long  he  tarries,  but  he  listens 
When  the  days  are  growing  longer, 


WINTER  OUR  GUEST.  159 

Listens  till  he  hears  the  laughter, 
Rippling  in  the  sunny  distance, 
Of  the  winsome  April  maiden. 
As  we  spring  up  in  our  gladness 
Echoing  back  her  sonsj  of  welcome, 

O  O  * 

He  will  gaze  into  our  faces 
As  if  fain  awhile  to  linger. 

<j 

But  as  nearer  comes  the  dancing, 
Mirthful,  musical  young  goddess, 
With  the  scent  of  early  violets 
Shed  from  her  sun-lighted  tresses, 
He  will  totter  to  the  threshold, 
Looking,  lingering,  O  so  wistful ! 
Till  with  late,  repentant  kindness, 
As  he  sadly  is  departing, 
We  will  touch  his  cold,  wan  fingers, 
Saying  softly  —  "  Friend,  farewell !  " 


IMMORTELLES. 
HERE  bloom  no  flowers.     The  river  glides 

O 

Beneath  the  shade  of  sombre  pines, 
The  bank  is  rich  with  purpling  vines 
That  lean  to  watch  the  changing  tides. 
But  garden  beds  and  walks  for  me 
Have  lost  their  olden  witchery, 
Since,  trusting  they  would  spring  again 
Beneath  the  sunshine  and  the  rain, 
I  planted  deep  my  Immortelles. 

And  that  was  long  ago.     They  sleep 
Unmindful  of  caressing  dews, 
Of  all  the  kindred  blossom  hues 
That  round  their  place  of  slumber  creep. 
The  west-wind  sighs  amid  the  leaves, 
The  wild-bird  answering,  sweetly  grieves, 
They  hear  nor  heed  ;  alike  unstirred 
By  tenderest  voice  of  wind  or  bird, 

They  sleep,  my  spotless  Immortelles. 

At  times  when  down  the  darkened  sky 
Rushes  the  storm  on  angry  wing, 

160 


IMMORTELLES.  161 

When  all  the  leaves  are  shuddering 
And  the  torn  blossoms  sob  and  sigh, 
I  think  of  them,  —  in  earth's  fond  breast 
Held  in  such  still  and  perfect  rest, 
And  I  am  comforted  to  know 
O'er  them  no  blighting  wind  can  blow, 
No  ruin  reach  my  Immortelles ! 

The  days  are  long,  but  calm  and  strong 
Will  Love's  own  presence  on  them  wait. 
And  fear  no  league  with  Death  nor  Fate. 
Sure  is  the  joy  though  tarrying  long. 
Each  year  new  promise  seems  to  bring, 
New  signals  of  eternal  spring. 
Perhaps  ere  Summer  fades  my  eyes 
Will  see  my  flowers  of  Paradise  — 
Will  look  upon  my  Immortelles. 

The  hour  will  come ;  a  twilight  gloom, 
With  flowers  upon  the  pillow  laid 
By  hands  that  tremble,  half-afraid 
Of  the  strange  stillness  in  my  room. 
O  friends,  fear  not !     My  eyes  will  be 
No  longer  hoi  den.     I  shall  see 
In  all  their  passion  of  perfume, 
In  all  their  brilliancy  of  bloom, 

My  own,  my  deathless  Immortelles. 


CONSOLATION. 

NATURE  is  not  pitiless  ! 

When  upon  some  sudden  woe 
Mornings  glitter,  sunsets  glow 

As  in  glad  unconsciousness, 

When  upon  our  dead  delight 

Sweet  winds  play  and  roses  bloom, 
And  we  seem  to  have  no  room 

For  our  sorrow,  and  no  right  — 

Then,  ah  !  then  could  we  but  know 
From  what  wealth  of  bliss  eternal 
Nature's  joyance,  fresh  and  vernal, 

Overflows  upon  our  woe,  — 

From  what  opulence  of  light 

She  shines  down  upon  our  grief, 
Till  in  glimpses  comes  relief 

As  the  star-beams  to  the  night,  — 

From  all  doubting  we  should  cease, 
Knowing  that  our  faltering  glance 

c^     «^ 

162 


CONSOLATION.  163 

Faints  and  falls  in  the  expanse 
Of  a  universe  of  peace. 

Mother  Nature,  fair  and  grand, 

Mocks  us  not,  but  round  us  throwing 
Her  warm  arms,  with  love  o'erflowing 

Bids  us  wait  and  understand. 

Then  we  see  that  air  and  sky 

Throb  with  beauteous,  boundless  life, 
Winds  and  woods  and  waves  are  rife 

With  unfailing  melody. 

Every  discord  of  to-day, 

Ocean's  moan  or  tempest's  jar, 
Ere  it  can  the  chorus  mar, 

Drowned  in  music  dies  away. 

And  we  dimly  feel  and  know 

Something  deep  within  keeps  time 
To  the  wonderful  glad  rhyme 

Of  the  ages  as  they  flow. 

Something  mightier  than  pain, 
Heaven's  own  echo  in  the  heart, 
Bids  us  rise  and  take  our  part 

In  the  song  of  life  again. 


164  LYRICS. 

Therefore  Nature,  loving  Sage, 

Smiles  the  brighter  when  we  weep, 
Knowing  that  we  can  but  keep 


Our  eternal  heritage. 


SONNETS. 


165 


SONNETS. 


ORIENT  TO  OCCIDENT. 

MINE  is  the  elder  right,  the  ancient  throne, 
The  purple  of  the  centuries  is  mine ! 
The  birthplace  of  the  race,  its  earliest  shrine 

Was  to  my  ever  blooming  gardens  known. 

Upon  my  dewy  sunrise  slopes  has  grown 

The  tree  of  Knowledge,  of  whose  fruit  divine 
Have  feasted  bard  and  sage,  a  noble  line,  — 

The  fountains  of  all  history  are  my  own. 

My  fields  are  white  with  harvests  of  brave  deeds 
And  rich  with  blood  of  heroes,  and  the  air 
Is  sweet  with  songs  of  victory  heard  afar ; 

Mine  are  the  elder  gods,  the  cradle  creeds 

Of  the  wild  north,  the  fervent  south,  and  fair 
On  my  horizon  rose  the  Bethlehem  Star. 

167 


OCCIDENT  TO  ORIENT. 

WEAK  thy  proud  honors  still,  imperial  East, 
Thou  warrior  of  the  ages !    but  for  me 
A  new  day  dawns,  —  a  fairer  history 

Than  ever  graced  the  scroll  of  seer  or  priest ; 

For  Liberty  from  ancient  thrall  released 
Calls  to  the  nations  over  land  and  sea, 
To  the  oppressed  who  should  be  strong  and 
free, 

To  sit  with  her  at  a  perpetual  feast. 

My  poets  sing  no  more  of  battling  foes, 
But  in  this  true  Valhalla  of  the  West 
Shall  god-like  wisdom,  arts  divine,  increase ; 

And  here  the  star  that  on  Judea  rose, 

Shall  light   the   long-sought    gardens   of  the 

Blest,  — 
The  home  of  nations  and  the  throne  of  Peace. 


168 


THE  SEVEN   DAYS. 
I. 

DAY  OF  THE  MOON. 

DIANA,  sister  of  the  sun,  thy  ray 

Governs  these  opening  hours.     The  world  is 

wide; 

We  know  not  what  new  evil  may  betide 
This    six    days'    journey ;    by    what    unknown 

way 

We  come  at  last  unto  the  royal  day 
Of  prophecy  and  promise.     O  preside, 
Propitious,  and  our  doubting  footsteps  guide 
Onward  and  sunward.     Long  in  shadows  gray 
We   have   but    slumbered ;    hidden    from    our 

view 

Knowledge  and  wisdom  in  unfruitful  night. 
But  if  upon  the  dawn's  unfolding  blue 

Thy  hand  to-day  our  destiny  must  write, 
Once  more  our  outer,  inner  life  renew 

With  Heaven's  first  utterance,  "Let  there  be 
light." 

169 


170  SONNETS. 

II. 

DAY    OF    THE    WAR-GOD. 

FEAR  not,  O  soul,  to-day  !  the  kingly  Mars 
Leads  on  the  hours,  a  brave  and  warlike  train, 
Fire  in  his  glance  and  splendor  in  his  reign, 
From  the  first  glitter  through  the  sunrise  bars 
Till  his  red  banner  flames  amono-  the  stars. 

C-> 

Thou,  too,  go  forth,  and  fully  armed  maintain 
Duty  and  right :  the  hero  is  not  slain, 

Though   pierced    and    wounded   in    a   hundred 
wars. 

For  daring  deeds  are  deathless.     He  alone 
Is  victor,  who  stays  not  for  any  doom 

Foreshadowed  ;  utters  neither  sigh  nor  moan, 
Death-stricken,  but  right  onward,  his  fair  plume 
Scorched  in  the  battle-flame,  through   smoke 

7  C3 

and  gloom 
Strikes  for  the  right,  nor  counts  his  life  his  own. 

III. 

DAY    OF    ODIN. 

The  mighty  Odin  rides  abroad,  and  earth 

Trembles  and  echoes  back  his  ghostly  sigh, — 
More  deep  than  thought,  more  sad  than  memory. 

The  very  birds  sing  low  in  timid  mirth, 


THE  SEVEN  DAYS.  171 

For  in  the  forest  sudden  gusts  have  birth, 
And  harsh  against  the  pale  appealing  sky 
Ascends  his  ravens'  melancholy  cry. 
Peace  be  with  Odin !     Of  his  ancient  worth 
Many  and  grand  the  tales  we  will  repeat, 
For  sacred  memories  to  these  hours  belong. 

O 

But  yesterday  with  reckless  speed  our  feet 
Dared  the  bold  height.     With  spirit  no  less 
strong 

To-day  step  softly.     After  battle's  heat 

Warriors  and  wars  are  only  themes  for  song. 


IV. 

DAY    OF    THOR. 

White-robed,  white-crowned,  and  borne  by  steeds 
snow-white, 

The  Thunderer  rolls  along  the  echoing  skies. 

No  hour  is  this  to  dream  of  past  emprise, 
Or  with  old  runes  the  memory  to  delight. 
The    mountain    tops    with    prophet    beams    are 
bright, 

The  eagle  soars  aloft  with  jubilant  cries  — 

Thou,  too,  unto  the  hills  lift  up  thine  eyes, 
To  some  new  throne  these  sacred  signs  invite. 
Learn  thy  own  strength ;  and  if  some  secret  sense 

Of  power  untried  pervades  thy  low  estate, 


172  SONNETS. 

Bend  thy  soul's  purest,  best  intelligence 
To  seek  the  mastery  of  time  and  fate. 

Courage  and  deathless  hope  and  toil  intense 
Are  the  crown-jewels  of  the  truly  great. 


V. 

DAY    OF   LOVE    AND    PLEASURE. 

In  the  world  garden,  walled  with  living  green, 
The  foam-born  goddess  of  delight  to-day 
Plucks  glorious  blossoms  for  her  own  array. 
Poppies  and  myrtle  in  her  wreath  are  seen, 
And  roses,  bending  o'er  her  brow  serene, 
Blush  to  perceive  she  is  more  fair  than  they. 
Sweet  grasses  at  her  feet  their  odors  lay, 
And    doves,    low   warbling,    hover    o'er    their 

queen. 
In  this  brief  life  shall  ever  toil  and  care 

Hold  fast  our  wishes?     Earth's  bewildering 

bowers, 
Her    streams    melodious    and    her    woodlands 

fair, 

Are  palaces  for  gods.     The  world  is  ours ! 
Beauty    and    love    our    birthright,  —  we    will 

share 

The     sunshine     and     the    singing    and    the 
flowers. 


THE  SEVEN  DAYS.  173 

VI. 

DAT    OF    SATTJKN. 

Though  bright  with  jewels,  and  with  garlands 
dressed, 

The  bloom  decays,  the  world  is  growing  old. 

Lost  are  the  days  when  peaceful  Saturn  told 
The  arts  to  men,  and  cheered  their  toil  or  rest 
With  eloquence  divine.  The  Olympian  guest 

Took  with  him  in  his  flight  the  age  of  gold. 

Westward  through  myriad  centuries  has  rolled 
The  ceaseless  pilgrimage,  the  hopeless  quest 
For  the  true  Fatherland.     Through  weary  years 

What  if  some  rainbow  glory  spans  the  gloom, 
Some  strong,  sweet  utterance  the  wayside  cheers, 

Or  gladness  opens  like  a  rose  in  bloom? 
Step  after  step  the  fatal  moment  nears, 

Earth  for  new  graves  is  ever  making  room. 

VII. 

DAY    OF    THE    SUN. 

Thou  glorious  Sun  !  illumining  the  blue 

Highway  of  Heaven !  to  thy  triumphant  rays 
The  earth    her    shadow    yields,  the    hill-tops 
blaze, — 

Up  lifts  the  mist,  up  floats  the  morning  dew. 


174  SONNETS. 

Old  things  Lre  passed  away,  the  world  is  new ! 

Labor  is  changed  to  rest,  and  rest  to  praise ! 

Past  are  the  weary  heights,  the  stormy  days,- 
The  eternal  future  breaks  upon  our  view. 
Last  eve  we  lingered,  uttering  our  farewe1 

But  lo!  One  met  us  in  the  early  light 
Of  this  divinest  morn.     The  tale  He  tells 

Transfigures  life  and  opens  Heaven  to  sight. 
Bring  altar  flowers  !  lilies  and  asphodels  ! 

Sing  jubilates  !     There  is  no  more  night. 


LONGFELLOW. 

WHITHER,  beloved  spirit,  art  them  fled  ? 

Couldst  thou  not  linger  with  thine  own,  at  least 
Till  the  glad  singing  at  thy  birthday  feast 

Had  died  away  ?     Still  fresh  upon  thy  head 

Tli3  perfume  of  love's  latest  wreath  is  shed. 
Thy  new  year's  daybreak  reddens  in  the  east, 
The   warm   air   throbs   with  music   not    yet 
ceased  — 

Why  stand  the  minstrels  hushed  around  thy  bed  ? 

Falls  thy  own  whisper  from  the  fields  divine  — 
"There  is  no  death  !"     The  an^el  Israfil, 

O 

Flashing  swift  splendor  on  our  startled  gaze, 
But  crowned  and  led  thee  home.     No  word  nor 

sign 

We  need  to  know  thou  art  a  poet  still, 
And  sweeter  for   thy  songs   are   heaven's  high- 
ways. 

175 


VICTORIA. 

THE  sovereign  lady  of  dominions  grand, 
Flower  of  a  chivalrous  and  noble  age, 
Hers  is  to-day  a  matchless  heritage. 

The  sceptre  held  within  her  gentle  hand 

Shines  with  unsullied  beam ;  a  starry  band 
Of  bards  and  sages  write  her  history's  page, 
While  boundless  love  and  loyalty  presage 

Joy  to  her  banners  upon  sea  and  land. 

But  we,  in  this  free  land  across  the  sea, 
Find  in  her  fair  and  gracious  womanhood 
A  higher  royalty.     No  more  alone 

Can  England  claim  her ;  she  has  risen  to  be 
Queen  among  women.    Simply  great  and  good, 
In  the  world's  heart  Victoria  has  her  throne. 

176 


TO  THE  RAINBOW. 

0  IRIS,  bringing  balm  for  summer's  tears, 

So  lightly  stepping  down  thy  bridge  of  rose, 
I  know  not  why  my  spirit  drinks  repose 

Soon  as  thy  footfall  the  horizon  nears. 

Spell-bound  I  watch  the  crimson  shaded  piers, 
As  arch  by  arch  the  blooming  pathway  grows, 
And  where  the  warmest  tint  of  color  shows, 

1  trace  thy  trailing  garment.     Sighs  and  fears 
Are  vanished  ;  in  a  long  and  ardent  gaze 

Thy  steps  I  follow  down  the  heavenly  slope. 
Iris  !  be  mine  thy  message  !     Let  thy  rays 
Write  out  how  I  with  destiny  may  cope. 
Ah !  spanned   with  light  would  be   all    coming 

days, 

Could  I  but  read  thy  oracle  of  hope. 

177 


THE  MAGIC   FLUTE. 

A  FLUTE  upon  the  water  !  and  I  lean 

At  the  broad  window  in  the  moonlight  clear, 

O  ' 

That  low,  wild,  rippling  melody  to  hear. 
A  white  batteau  with  dripping  oar  is  seen 
Skimming  the  moonbeam  path  of  silver  sheen, 

And  now  a  shadow  into  shadows  drear 

It  vanishes,  yet  to  my  longing  ear 
The  melody  floats  back,  a  sound  serene 
Endowed  by  night  with  sweetness  not  its  own. 

O  happy  player !  drifting  down  the  tide, 
Half  of  thy  music's  charm  thou  hast  not  known  ; 

With  me  alone  its  magic  shall  abide  — 
For  fairy  lips  with  thine  the  strain  have  blown, 

And  love's  lost  whisper  in  the  echo  sighed ! 

178 


MIDNIGHT. 

AT  midnight  I  behold,  far  past  her  prime, 
The  pallid  moon  slow  rising  in  the  sky, 
A  queen  discrowned,  her  pomp  and  pride  past 

by, 

Pacing  a  joyless  palace  ;  yet  sublime 
In  desolation,  mindful  of  the  time 

When    reigned    full-orbed   her   loveliness    on 

high, 

And  planets  paled  before  her  majesty. 
Now    dumb    and    dread  the   hour ;  not   even   a 

chime 

Of  elfin  music.      Flower  and  leaf  and  bough 
Dream  in  the   marble   moonlight.     Cold   and 
bright 

O 

The  river  sleeps,  its  tide  at  flood,  and  slow 
Soft  clouds  like  phantoms,  gliding  into  sight 

Linger  beneath  the  stars'  funereal  glow. 

The  day  is  dead  —  thou  art  its  spectre,  Night ! 

179 


DAYBREAK. 

WHEX  out  of  heaven  steals  the  first  ray  of  dawn 
And  wanders,  lost,  in  labyrinths  of  night, 
The  wakeful  robin  notes  with  quickened  sight 

The  half-affrio-hted  herald  of  the  morn. 

C-J 

Softly  he  trills  to  cheer  the  beam  forlorn, 
And  others  hear  the  signal,  until  bright 
Approach  the  bolder  ranks  of  orient  light, 

And  night  is  of  its  shadowy  terror  shorn. 

Withdraw,  O  Hesper  !  silver-mantled  priest! 
And  quench  with  haste  thy  taper's  dying  ray: 

For  now  with  sudden  hush  the  birds  have  ceased, 
Rich  banners  float  o'er  the  horizon  gray, 

And  past  his  fire-plumed  escort,  in  the  east 
Rides  the  anointed  King,  Imperial  Day ! 

180 


FRIENDSHIP. 

IT  matters  not  if  no  more  face  to  face 

I    look   on  thee,   my  friend.     Though  sweet 
indeed 

To  clasp  thy  hand  in  mine,  there  is  no  need ; 
Our  perfect  friendship  knows  no  time  nor  place. 
Heart  reaches  heart  across  unmeasured  space, 

Soul  touches  soul  from  ruder  contact  freed  ; 

Ours  is  one  hope,  one  life-work  and  one  creed, 
One  destiny  the  flying  moments  trace. 
The  shadow  of  thy  grief  cannot  depart 

Till  it  is  fallen  on  me  :  thv  new  delight 

W1  V? 

Flashes  swift  radiance  over  land  and  sea. 
Such  friendship  is  an  Eden  for  the  heart, 
In  which  it  arrows  to  blossom  without  blight, 

G  ^j  7 

Gives  itself  wholly  and  is  wholly  free. 

181 


THE   FLOWER  PAINTER. 

I. 

SHE  learned  the  dearest  haunts  in  vale  and  wild 
Of  summer's  fairy  nurslings.     In  her  eyes 
The  opening  buds  beheld  with  glad  surprise 
Such  loving  recognition,  that  they  smiled 
Ecstatic  welcome.     Nature  pleased  and  mild 
Guided  her  hand  to  seek  the  precious  dyes 
Kept  hidden  since  the  loss  of  Paradise, 
And  with  pure  sense  and  spirit  undefiled 
She  shared  the  secret  with  eacli  flower  that  grew. 

Beneath  her  touch  the  treasures  manifold 
Of  fading  summers  lived  in  beauty  new. 
The  rose  with  Mowing  blush  its  storv  told, 

o  o  */ 

Violet  and  heart' s-ease  breathed  in   blue  and 

gold, 
And  spotless  lilies  sparkled  with  the  dew. 

ii. 

And  then  her  hand  grew  weary  ;  full  and  deep 
The  cup  of  life  and  love,  and  beauty's  ray 
Crowned  her  young  brow  as  on  her  bridal  day. 
Not  hers  the  doom  to  linger  and  to  weep, 
Nor  feel  the  winds  of  stormy  anguish  sweep. 

182 


THE  FLOWER  PAINTER.  183 

Within  her  eyes  strange,  wistful  shadows  lay ; 
The  pencil  from  her  light  grasp  dropped  away, 
And  while  the  flowers  slept,  she  too  fell  asleep. 

"But  summer  days  are  come;  will  she  return 
Whose  step  a  thousand  blossoms  yearn  to  greet  ?r 
O  questioning  flowers !  she  has  gone  hence  to 

learn 

If  in  that  land  your  own  life  is  complete  ; 
If  heavenward  borne  on  wings  of  odor  sweet 
Ye,  too,  in  hues  of  deathless  beauty  burn. 


EBB   AND   FLOW. 

MY  river !     Thou  art  like  the  poet's  soul, 

Where  tides  of  song  perpetual  ebb  and  flow. 

Like  thine  the  current  of  his  life  runs  low 
At  times,  his  visions  suffer  loss  and  dole, 
And    sunken   griefs  break   through    the   waters 
shoal. 

Then  while  despair  is  tossing  to  and  fro 

His  stranded  hope,  a  breath  begins  to  blow 
From  the  great  sea !     With  rising  swell  and  roll 
The  waves  of  inspiration  lift  and  float 

His  being  into  broad  and  full  expanse. 
Now  rocks  his  fancy  like  an  airy  boat 

On  wreathed  billows  ;  his  impassioned  glance 
Little  of  cloud  or  reef  or  wreck  will  note, 

On  the  high  tide  of  song  in  blissful  trance. 

184 


HAPPINESS. 

\ 

LONG  time  I  looked  in  every  passing  face 
In  search  of  happiness,  —  the  signal  light 
Of  an  interior  flame,  —  the  blossom-bright 

Midsummer  of  the  soul,  —  but  found  no  trace 

Till  yesterday  in  a  most  lonely  place, 

One  on  whose  heart  had  fallen  woful  blight, 
Said  to  me  —  "  In  the  heaviness  of  night 

I  can  remember  Joy's  supremest  grace ! ' 

O  Fortunate !     Once  to  have  felt  the  glow 
Of  full  delight ;  to  bear  within  the  breast 

d*  * 

Even  the  ashes  of  life's  perfect  bloom. 
Earth  gives  no  more ;  the  happiness  we  know 
Is  veiled  when  with  us,  —  in  the  vanished  guest 

We  first  perceive  an  angel's  fleeting  plume. 

185 


SOUNDS   FROM   HOME. 

WHY,  when  sweet  sounds  are  borne  upon  the  air, 
Doth  such  a  homesick  longing,  not  all  pain, 
A  gladness  greater  than  we  can  sustain, 
Enthrall  the  sense,  until  we  seem  to  share 
Joys  of  some  higher  realm,  we  know  not  where? 
Doth  then  the  spirit  for  a  moment  gain 
Ascendency  o'er  powers  that  long  have  lain 
Dormant  beneath  a  load  of  earthly  care, 
And  recognize  the  sounds  and  sisrhs  of  home? 

O  O 

O  Melody !  the  subtle  power  is  thine 
The  inmost  deeps  of  memory  to  reach, 
The  heights  supreme  of  hope,  till  we  are  come 
Near  the  soul's  fatherland  :  we  touch  the  line 
Beyond  which  music  is  the  only  speech. 

186 


FAR  AND   NEAR. 

THIS  little  picture  from  across  the  sea 
Shows  me  a  foreign  city's  stately  square, 
A  sculptured  column  piercing  the  blue  air 
Within  its  midst,  and  fountains  dashing  free 
On  either  side,  while  many  a  bowery  tree 

Shades  the  wide  pathways  from  the  summer's 

glare. 
Princes  of  art  and  sons;  have  wandered  there 

O 

In  years  gone  by ;  yet  is  it  more  to  me 
That  in  yon  olden  palace,  looking  down 

Upon  the  winged  marbles,  dwells  to-day 
The  beautiful  companion  of  my  youth, 
Who,  roving  through  the  fair,  historic  town, 

Thinks  of  me  still,  and  wafts  from  far  away 
The  blest  aroma  of  a  warm  heart's  truth. 

187 


FOREST   WORSHIP. 

WE  stood  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  wood 
In  Nature's  own  Cathedral.     High  in  air 
Hemlock  and  pine  tree  met  in  arches  fair, 
And  at  our  feet,  as  if  they  understood 
The  forest's  Sabbath's  hushed,  expectant  mood, 
The   waves  flowed  back,  till  in  the  mid-day 

glare 

&  . 

The  gray  rocks  stood  like  monks  with  foreheads 
bare. 

Suddenly  from  the  inner  solitude 

A  choir  of  sparrows  in  long,  sweet  refrain 
Intoned  a  litany.     There  was  no  room 
For  priest  nor  psalm  nor  any  spoken  word, 

For  here  the  Spirit  often  sought  in  vain 

Brooded  at  peace,  and  in  the  tranquil  gloom 
We  almost  heard  the  footsteps  of  our  Lord. 

188 


ISOLATION. 

MOST  solitary  !     This  is  thy  complaint ! 

Then  teach  thy  brooding  spirit  to  forsake 

Self-contemplation.     Rise  up  and  partake 
Of  Nature's  converse.     She  hath  fancies  quaint, 
Poetic  moods,  love  legends  without  taint, 

Such  as  the  wild-bird  tells  by  brook  and  brake, 

Or  the  white  lily  dreams  upon  the  lake, 
Seen  but  by  cloud  and  star,  a  vestal  saint. 
The  forest  bud  expands  in  perfect  bloom, 

The   meadow   pool   Heaven's   starry  splendor 

knows  ! 
So  thou  superior  to  thy  lonely  doom, 

May'st    win    each    grace    the    fleeting    hour 

bestows, 
Until  all  redolent  of  rare  perfume 

Thy  wilderness  shall  blossom  as  the  rose. 

189 


ALTAR   FLOWERS. 

HE  loved  them,  —  and  what  offering  more  meet 
Wherewith    to    deck   this    pleasant,   peaceful 

place, 
Than  flowers,  the  living  Ian<nia9re  of  His  grace. 

t  d?  »H7  C_?  C? 

Dearer  to  Him  than  incense,  for  their  sweet 
Adoring  beauty  drew  His  wayworn  feet 

To  linger  near  them.     For  their  sake  His  face 

O 

Grew  luminous,  though  no  brief  delight  could 

chase 

That  sacred,  inner  shadow.     See  Him  greet, 
With  word  and  touch  the  lilies  of  the  field  ! 
That  word  has  given  them  subtler  power  than 

speech, 
That  touch  has  made  them   glorious ;  and  the 

best 

The  purest  invocations  we  can  yield, 
The  praise  our  faltering  accents  fail  to  reach, 
We  utter  in  the  flowers  that  he  has  blest. 

190 


STAR  SOLITUDE. 

I  SOMETIMES  wonder  if  yon  star  of  even 
Which  has  for  everlasting  ages  shone 
Stately  and  fair  on  its  immaculate  throne, 
Ever  looks  forth,  with  sudden  anguish  riven, 
Into  the  silver  space,  reproaching  heaven 
That  in  the  very  grandeur  all  its  own 
A  doom  is  fixed,  to  be  for  aye  alone  ! 
Eternal  solitude  with  glory  given. 

The  cottage  lamp  shines  cheerily  and  strong 
Into  the  night.  It  tells  of  evening  mirth, 
Of  cradle  music  by  the  beaming  hearth, 

Rest,  comfort,  pleasure  that  to  Home  belong. 

But  thou,  O  Radiance  !  high  above  the  earth, 
Ever  and  only  nearest  thine  own  song ! 

191 


ST.   CECILIA. 

WHEN  St.  Cecilia,  soul  of  song  and  fire, 

Heard    angels    sing  the    numbers    which   had 

lain 
Unutterable  within  her  fervid  brain, 

Heart-sick  with  hopeless,  passionate  desire, 

In  fragments  at  her  feet  she  dashed  her  lyre ! 
Broken,  it  could  no  longer  mock  her  pain, 
ISTor  voice  so  ill  the  sweet,  ideal  strain 

Which  rang  melodious  from  the  heavenly  choir. 

O  sad  saint!  was  it  not  enough  to  know 

Such    music    lived,    though    still    beyond    thy 
reach  ? 

And  wiser  far,  with  tender  touch  and  slow, 
Thy  instrument's  mute  helplessness  to  teach? 

Content  if  ever  from  its  strings  should  flow 

O 

Some  syllables  of  that  celestial  speech  ! 

192 


M191973 


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